Zootopian mixed bag
by stevegallacci
Summary: A revised catch-all for the various shorts and AU versions of things, instead of the long string of separate stories cluttering up my listings. True, it will obscure the egoboo potential of which individual story is grabbing more attention, but life is hard. Will have a mix of new and recycled older content. Well, I discovered that I need not do much recycling, still learning where
1. Chapter 1

**With all the variations of alternate Nick and Judy in the pit stories out there, I had to do my own little version. Taking a more wild take on the effect and a rationalization to go with it. Not connected to any of my other stories, as I ignore most of the over-the-top action of the movie as just that. An over-dramatization that Nick and Judy were appalled to see on the big screen after their more mundane police investigation that actually broke the real case.**

The twap of the blueberry was a lot sharper than Nick expected, but no matter. The fix was in, and that maniac Bellwether was bound to monolog her whole scheme. All they needed was a few good lines for her to hang herself.

Then Nick noticed an unfamiliar smell, and made a little covert swipe at the splat on his neck. Oh glob, that wasn't blueberry! And he tasted DMSO, made sense as a penetrating solvent and vehicle for the serum. But he had to keep to the act, at least ...

And where was the fox? This dusty, musty place? There was a food in here with it, and blood. But that wasn't important. The fox felt trapped and ran around the edge of the hole. No obvious way out. There was more food up and outside, and the fox felt menace and anger towards them. But the fox couldn't get at them either.

The food in there with it was making social sounds. Why was that? The fox took a moment to examine the food. It was an easy food, but it didn't act like food, and it kept making those social sounds. The fox felt like such should mean something. The food was already bleeding, and the fox could scent the fear in it. But the fox could scent other things, social things, and fox on the food, on the female food.

The fox shied away to the opposite end of the hole, still looking for any possible exit. The female food was too confusing to deal with at the moment. The fox needed out. And there was the matter of the bad food above.

Then there were scary things above, bigger than food, and hunters too. The fox became a bit frantic, trapped in a hole with such big and threatening things. And the female food still making social noises. In near panic, the fox went to the female food, and hesitated further. It was more than female food; there was something else to it, something familiar.

In an instant, the fox recognized Her. It couldn't be, it was just female food, but it was also Her. The fox was so confused and he hopped from foot to foot, wanting to approach, fearful of the wrong, and all too aware of the external threat. Then a sharp twinge in his back, and an unnatural sleep took him.

Judy was on crutches, insisting on such instead of a wheelchair to get used to them for the while it would take for her leg to heal up. For now, she was getting a bit of a briefing from Detective Post and Doctor Mumbai about the Night Howler case and Nick's condition.

"When we squeezed Doug a bit further, he confessed that he'd gotten the formula from a less than ethical research study by a now defunct pharmaceutical firm. They had found a range of reactions from extracts of the plant, the savage serum was one of them."

"Yes, it provokes a persistent psychotic rage, the atavistic animalistic behavior was more of a side effect. They aren't really wild in the normal sense; the behavior is too intensely and persistently violent. Normal relaxation or social behavior is entirely absent."

"But there where batches that tried some variations of the formula to economize the process."

"One only caused a hallucinogenic high. It wasn't until we got this information that we were able to diagnose the couple of victims we've found so far."

"Doug claims he only did a couple as it was clear that they were not going to do anything but look at the pretty pictures in their heads."

"The other type that was actually made and used didn't have the savage rage, but did revert the victim to a somewhat instinctual wild state."

"Doug claims he shot seven, and Wilde became the eighth. He said he assumed that they were going savage, but that they had an initial flight response. That there was no news of any subsequent incidents with the victims was a puzzler, but he wasn't worried, as he assumed it was only a matter of time."

"That reaction also caught us off guard, as they were dropping out of sight, a new missing mammal thing, and we were beginning to worry about a new attempt to contain the situation like Lionheart was doing. Then we got one as a pedestrian/vehicle victim and a couple sightings and complaints of 'wild animals' prowling around."

"That is the sort of good news/bad news part of this version of the chemistry. It does truly revert the victim to an approximation of an instinctual wild state. But as it is a different chemistry, will need a different treatment regimen." The Doctor made a face, "And we don't yet know how much of a recovery we can expect."

"So you don't know if you can get N - Mr. Wilde back?" Judy gulped.

The Doctor shrugged. "This is new to us, and involves some subtle brain chemistry. We'll have to see. The one bit of good news is that Wilde is calm and reacting as well as can be expected, given the circumstances."

He motioned to a door. "He's just inside there, in an isolation room, like you saw earlier with the original savage victims. Doesn't need any kind of restraints and is reacting well to folks entering the viewing area. You can go in alone."

And there was an empty containment room, a pile of blankets for a sleeping area and a shallow bin filled with gravel for - . But what froze Judy was Nick, naked, sitting at the far side of the room, licking himself. Judy had to laugh.

"Oh Nick, you're so lucky I'm not going to get my 'phone out." Mystic Springs had become something of a little joke between them, as Judy wasn't so adverse to practical nudity, just not ready or reacted well to the totally unexpected and all too public aspect.

The fox heard a voice, it was Her again, and he wagged his tail as he cautiously trotted up to the bothersome wall he could not properly see. The fox sniffed through the little holes, yes it was Her. The fox sat down and pawed at the wall he could not properly see, giving Her a little happy whine.

"Oh Nick, you are such a cute puppy of a thing now." Judy eased herself down to sit, leaning against the transparency, the one leg still hurt something fierce, sticking her paw up to one of the vent holes. Nick sniffed it then leaned into the clear wall that separated them. "What am I going to do with you?" 


	2. Judy's Worry

**This is a recycle of the story originally posted back in September. Now in the miscellaneous shorts bag**

Originally done as a five-page comic format posted in Fur Affinity.

Judy's Worry

Nick and Judy were stepping out of a Snarlbucks with their morning drinks, ready for a day on the beat, when a cute Vixen walked past. She ostentatiously didn't look at Nick, though her tail gave a little saucy wag as she walked past. A couple steps later Nick recoiled in shock, his nose flaring, crushing his paper cup of coffee in a reflective grip.

Judy whirled around, looking to Nick and then the Vixen who was then looking back to see how things were going. "Nick, again?" she asked while giving the offending Fox the stink eye.

'Fraid so. You'd think they'd get tired of trying by now." He'd just been pheromone 'bombed', an artificial over-dose of what would have otherwise been the allure of a Fox in her time. He gave the offender a Very Annoyed glare, to which she realized she might have gone too far.

Of course, Judy wanted to arrest her for assault, and not just because she'd indirectly flirted with her - Scratch that, her fellow officer who was now somewhat incapacitated by the chemical attack.

"I'd better sit down." And Nick pulled his tail over his lap.

Judy considered, and not for the first time, Nick's lack of engagement with any Vixens. He had mentioned some less than good relationships in the past, but in the, now couple of years after the Bellwether case, he had not shown any interest in any new social activity outside that with her.

Looking in the direction of the now departed 'bomber', Judy felt she had to ask. "Nick, have you ever considered...?"

"What? Hook ups? Going out and dating?" Tipping his head back in the direction of the 'bomber', "Not with them. They're just groupies, all they want is time with the Famous Fox." He shook his head. "It's not like I'm desperate for a mate or anything."

He reached over to give down cast Judy a little chin up, "Not when I have my Sweet Carrots by my side."

But she blocked his touch and whispered, "please, don't..." She was not keen on public displays of affection beyond the most chaste or playfully chummy contacts. Then wrung her paws in consternation. After a moment, she looked up. "Don't you ever want to have a family?"

Nick attempted to be nonchalant, though he cringed inside. She was going there again. "That again?"

"Well. I'm just concerned for your relationship options."

Oh, yeah, she was definitely going there again. He made a dramatic pleading to the sky eye roll and sighed very loudly. Then settled down for that talk.

"We have a great relationship, don't we? Yeah, it's not a gooey sweet romance or hot poundy sex. But we've bound each other's wounds, dried each other's tears." then leaning in to whisper, "Wiped each other's butts, for cheese sakes!"

Judy had to stifle a laugh with that. Though short, their already rather adventurous career had given each the opportunity of bedpan duty for the other in turn. What greater devotion was that?

Nick continued, "Given my dubious history, I'd be grateful for all that, but there is more." And he took a more solemn tone, "We have literally saved each other's lives more times than I'd like to count." Then, with more gratitude, "And beyond that. You've likely saved my soul as well." Nick was not at all spiritual, but she knew what he meant. "How could I not be totally committed to you?"

His tone got lighter, "And your willingness to sacrifice the relationship for my possibly better situation is either an expression of how selfless your concern is for me -" He abruptly leans in and in a more snarky tone, "Or this all some kind of oblique break-up talk?"

And immediately regretted it seeing the look of deep concern in her eyes.

"Oh Nick! Yes, I'm still worried that you might be selling yourself short. Even with all we've shared, I'm still just a career-driven Bunny, and there isn't much I can offer you... Not like a Vixen might."

Nick groaned inwardly. Not the 'S' word- sex. She just could not get beyond that. Maybe it was because Rabbits didn't have defined sexual cycles. Not that Foxes had simple on-off switches for their special time. But when it was off, it was pretty much off.

"Judy, it's not That important. If I don't get a whiff, I don't get -." He was going to say 'stiff', but that was a bit rude, and not entirely true. His little red troublemaker, and the rest of him, he had to admit, found that little grey wonder awfully enticing. Not as automatic as hard-wired biochemistry, but she had her own charms, just as alluring as any Fox Femme. Definitely dangerous territory that he was not going to risk entering.

Then he saw a way to deflect the conversation.

"And, while I appreciate your concern about my well being, how about yours? Delivered in joking admonishment, "Not exactly seeing you hopping around with any hot Bucks. I know you're too monomaniacal to split attention between your job and motherhood, BUT, isn't there an itch you might need attention to on occasion?"

At that, Judy blushed massively and could only squeak out a faint, "Been too busy... the job, and ... stuff... ya know..." Her personal urges were her one embarrassment. She wasn't prudish or shameful, just Really Awkward in her feelings about her feelings, and she'd been taking suppressants to help avoid the issue.

Sensing he had successfully deflected the scary talk, Nick continued lightly, "uh-huh- So, don't worry too much about me. I'm fine with what we already have. And I'm not going to jeopardize it with any dumb fox moves. But, I want you to know that I want you to find your full measure of happiness too."

And that should settle that, at least for now.

However, Nick did not notice Judy's appraising glance. Those little inconsequential flirtations, the looks he gave her when he though she didn't notice, her own looks at him. And all that yummy thick coat. Their social grooming time was mostly the practical matter of furry pelt maintenance, and the deep atavistic comfort of two social mammals together. But she could not, in more private time, help but think of something more. She already knew most of his body, and what was left to discover, and under what circumstances, had become an increasingly common theme in her thoughts.

Should she, or even could they go further in their relationship? She understood Nick's uneasiness in jeopardizing things as they were, as was she. Part of her was willing to forego satisfying some things to maintain what they already had. But, she did have a little nagging desire, and bet that, despite his professed indifference, Nick may well have, as he said, an 'itch' of his own.

It was all just a matter of when, and how.

This is obviously a lead in to 'Birds do it, Bees do it" though would better fit an earlier draft that's posted on Fur Affinity, which includes the intimate details in the version posted here, but with more of Nick's ambivalence as seen in this piece and not updated to correct lagomorphic sexual receptivity.


	3. Range time

**A fragment that wasn't needed and, more importantly, set the wrong tone in several ways for a story. But it does toss out some extra character for Clauhauser.**

"Say, Chief, can we get a little range time before we go out?"

Bogo was about to ask why, then really noticed Nick's atypical temper. The Buffalo was a demanding leader, but he wasn't a fool, and recognized how much this situation had affected the Fox. "Why, yes, and I think I'll join you. We could all stand to let off a little steam, eh?"

As they crossed the lobby, Bogo went over to Clawhouser, "We'll be doing a little range work before these two go out."

Clauhauser, who was still looking a bit fretful, suddenly perked up at the mention, "Oh Chief! Can I come too, it's been a while - "

Bogo found Clauhauser to be something of an embarrassment at times and found his often giddy demeanor irritating, but he had heard things, so was curious. "Sure, come along."

The Cheetah restrained a squeal of delight and called for Steve to cover for him at the desk. Steve was Steve Kleinzahn, another Cheetah, and largely the polar opposite of Clauhauser. Cadaverously lean and laconically grim in demeanor, he nevertheless had an identical fur pattern as his opposite member. But, despite outward appearances of officious joylessness, would make a point of keeping his name badge obscured to the uninitiated, and lament as to how badly his diet was going.

After Clauhauser brought out a large gun case, the quartet went down to the building sub-basement where the ZPD indoor shooting range was. While the ZPD prided itself on its use of non-lethal law enforcement practices, the officers were trained with firearms, and a few carried back-up pistols just in case.

Judy checked out a standard small automatic pistol, despite its size, the high-velocity round would give all but the largest mammal pause. Nick checked out a similar gun, and a lot of ammo. Judy gave him a quizzical look, to which he replied, "I got a lot of steam to let off." Bogo had a vintage revolver back-up gun of modest calibre but massive grips to accommodate his hooves.

Clauhauser surprised everyone when he opened his mystery case. It was a massive 10mm Helstrum, an automatic pistol, more a carbine or full size rifle for many beasts, that well deserved the term hand cannon. The bulky ammo was fed by a magazine behind the handgrip, a 'bullpup' pattern, and the upper was a fair portion as long as Judy was tall. Seeing the looks from his fellow officers, he explained, "I trained as a marksman at the academy and was originally assigned to SWAT up in Tundra Town. But there wasn't a lot of that kind of action and I started snacking..." The Cheetah was not otherwise self-conscious about his weight, but he was not unaware of his public image and how his career had gone due to it.

"Well, if you are any good, maybe we have an underappreciated asset here?" Bogo was not fully aware of that detail of Clauhauser's past. And though he said that in part to bolster the mammal's spirits, the Cheetah was worth taking a closer look at.

They all prepared themselves and approached the firing line, but held off firing to see the Helstrum in action. They were not disappointed. The gun had a multi-baffle muzzle brake, and it produced a dramatic fan of fire around the gun with each shot. The recoil impact into the Cheetah's arm sent a jelly wave through his whole body. The muzzle blast concussion struck the other animals as a blow to chest and belly, and they all got to very much appreciate the effectiveness of their ear protection. After a full magazine was spent, the target, set at the far end of the range, was retrieved.

"Uh, not bad. The first one always gets to be a bit of a flyer." Clauhauser gave his pattern a critical eye. To everyone else, even with the "flyer", the grouping of bullet holes would have been respectable for anyone else at half the distance. "Such a thrill to shoot my baby again."

There was a mutual exchange of incredulous surprise between the rest of the mammals over the performance. Nick picked up one of the spent cases, the fat bottleneck brass filled most of his hand and his thumb fit the empty mouth. "Next time we have a shoot out, you're on my side, big guy." Though he meant it to sound flippantly up beat, his ears and tail said otherwise.

"Always" and in the earnest expression in the Cheetah's face, Nick finally felt just a little bit less - tense, defensive, alone? Up to that moment it had been Judy and Nick against the world. And while he knew, intellectually, the ZPD had his back, up until that moment, his gut had not.

They all returned to their firing positions, and when the range was ready, they began their individual shooting. Bogo did a basic shooting drill of single and double taps, with an emphasis on his speed loading technique. Judy concentrated on general refamiliarization, as she had never gotten much shooting practice. In that, she was typical of most ZPD beat cops, in that they normally didn't carry firearms. Nick simply pounded out shots, filling magazines and firing off the rounds quickly as though his goal was simply to burn up several boxes of ammo.

Judy noticed and peeked over to his position, tapping him on the shoulder during a reload and mouthed, "You okay?" He shrugged back with a wane smile. Then, poking around the pile of empty ammo boxes, he found one box of a different calibre and pulled out his back-up gun. Judy was stunned; she didn't know he had one at all. It was a little compact revolver. He offered it to Judy to try. Well it was a good idea to have some familiarity with her partner's weapon. She allowed herself a little grin with that thought, if Nick had said it out loud, he would have made it a rude double entendre.

After a few more loads of ammo, they were all done. Once the hearing protection was off, Judy had to ask, "How long have you had your back-up?"

"Since the first day on the force. I was never going to be without a way to defend my partner." Then, with a wink that showed the good old Nick was back, "Besides, replacements are so hard to break in."


	4. Escape and Evasion

**This was a toss in to Selaxes'** ** _Red Tails and Wilde Skies_** **WWII AU. He rewrote it to fit his thing better, but that left me with a perfectly good example of my writing brilliance left unpublished. So here it is now to pad out my production.**

Well I got them off my tail just in the nick of time. Thank the Maker for these low clouds. Now, can I throttle back enough before the engine over-heats? And the answer is no. I've got enough altitude to parachute out, but I Really don't like that idea. Nothing is on fire and I still have full control. Lots of fairly level farm land below to land on. Well, away from that town over there. And something without any obvious activity or farmhouse near by. And no one has shown up below the clouds to try and find me. With all the smoke they must have thought I was going to crash, but didn't confirm. Sloppy.

Goggles firmly in place. Let's jettison the canopy. Wuff, forget how noisy the slipstream is even without the engine. There's a nice little plot ahead. Some lines of trees for cover afterwards. Harnesses tight, gun sight out of the way. Might as well disconnect the headset now too. Crank down a little flap. Flair it out and looking good...

Oof! Still upright and nothing broke or caught fire yet. Get out and look around. No one around yet. Guess I don't need my flying helmet, though it could keep my head warmer than my hat. But one must look their best. Get the survival kit. Awfully skimpy, but there isn't the expectation for being off in some wilderness with these missions.

A last look at my ride. Yellow 4 served me well. Last eight of my twelve kills in the thing. Now it will be someone else's tally. And where to go from here?

Officially, I'm supposed to 'raise havoc and fear in the population'. Not as though simply being an enemy aviator, a dreaded predator, dropped in their midst isn't going to cause enough of a fuss. But burning barns and random murder of civilians was not how we were taught before the New Order came to power.

Veterans of the First War talked about how fallen aviators of both sides were offered tea, at least, before being taken off to the cages. Now there is talk of lynch mobs. Well, given how there's Really Bad Things happening, I can't quite blame them. But I'm not about to give anyone special cause to bring me to that kind of nasty end.

Well, head East and South, make the coast, maybe. Steal a boat and on to freedom. Like in the movies. Or just scare the locals, be the boogeymammal for a few days before my luck runs out.

-

Rain again. Can't stay dry enough, nor warm. The only blessing is that the trackers can't follow me, and no one likes being out in the wet, so making some small progress cross-country without being noticed. The trackers, this last time was a pair of wolves, 'race traitors' according to the New Order, are not very good. Watched them from a distance. Spent too much time arguing about what they were sniffing. Or were they sabotaging the effort ever so slightly? Where did their real allegiance lay?

Or was it just wishful thinking? Can't seen to keep a useful though it my head. These damned 'vitamines', pep pills, have helped keep me going, but are going to burn me out. Got the shakes all the time now, and can't seem to sleep, even if I wanted to. And so hungry.

If I wasn't an 'Officer and a Gentlemammal' and not fully indoctrinated in the New Order, would have taken one of the locals a time or two already. But the idea of eating a 'someone' rather than a something... What kind of a hypocrite am I? The improved rations this last year didn't come out of nowhere.

The New Order has been shrewd so far. While on the one hand, they trumpet the supremacy of the Predator and the natural order of things, but make sure that the logical extension of that is kept a bit camouflaged. Ground meats and rich broths, and no bones, the sources kept carefully ambiguous. Won't do to have a former neighbor on your dinner plate.

Heard talk that some infantry field units don't bother with pretext anymore. 'Choice morsels' don't make it to the cages. What have we become? Damn these 'vitamins', get me all mentally squirrel-caging on this. Stuck in a hole, waiting for a chance to scamper another few kilometers, but can't sleep, don't dare on the one hand, can't with this chemistry running through me.

-

How many days has it been? Lost count. Even with the 'vitamins' there have been black outs, chunks of time lost. Feel so sick, so hungry. So weak. Like a kitten with the wheezes. A barn. Take a chance; get out of the rain, just for a few hours...

-

'Belle! Do you smell that?"

"What?" The little brown Girl sniffed, then sniffed again, "Ewwu!"

The older Grey froze. "Belle, be very quiet, and get the others, there is Someone in here."

Belle looked in shock to her older sister as a 'someone' could only mean one of those enemy aviators they'd heard so much about. She scampered out of the barn. Judy found a pitchfork, now not the first time she had confronted the unknown with such, and advanced further into the barn.

There he was, and with the experience of seeing Zootopian pilot officer's uniforms, the enemy flyer was so much different. Instead of the browns and khakis, he was all in grey and black, and a wildcat of some unfamiliar species, though little different in size than that Fox. And along with being filthy, he must have been living under a rock for a good while, and smelled of it; he had an additional unhealthy reek.

She did not have a great nose, rabbits were not the most sensitive sniffers, but could tell there was something more wrong. She fleetingly though he might even be dead, his gaunt face reminded her too much of poor old Mr. Cooper. But she saw a little nostril flair. He was still breathing.

"Judy?" Belle was back, and after picking up a shovel, joined her sister. "I got one of the little ones to get the household. Is this one of the Enemy?" Though only a whisper, the cat's ear swiveled. The two Rabbits backed up suspecting he was about to waken. After a moment with no obvious action, they began to relax when he suddenly bolted upright.

Then looked like he was about to collapse again. He wobbled like someone either very drunk or very ill, rubbing his eyes and trying to sort himself out a bit, seemingly oblivious to the pair of approximately armed rabbits before him. After a moment, he seemed to realize where he was.

"So much for a short nap." His voice a dry rasp. He shook his head and looked to the pair rather mournfully. "Oh dear, at least my captors are a pair of pretties." Then with a clumsy effort, attempted a rather theatrical effort to straighten his uniform. "I'm afraid I'm not at my best at the moment."

He shuddered, was it pain, or was he going to get sick? Though he clearly was in a wretched state, Judy was not going to let her guard down. "You can sit back down if you want. But you're not going anywhere until the authorities come for you." She made a point of the suggestion to sit with the tines of her rather fierce looking pitchfork.

The enemy cat considered for a moment, still awfully wobbly, then - BLAM BLAM BLAM. He had a pistol out and fired over the Rabbit's heads. The sudden and rather unpleasantly loud discharge had the two girls drop their tools and hold their ears in painful shock. The Enemy ran, well, more like quickly staggered, to the barn door. He recoiled from the full bright light of day. Glancing around, he headed to the closest line of trees, but stopped after only a few steps, realizing that the main house, and a swarm of rabbits, were also in that direction.

The next likely cover was a far line to the east, and as he turned, there was a BOOM! He suddenly gave a brief dance of pain, as though stung by bees. "Owie! That Hurts!" had it been at some other time, it would have been almost comical. He briefly regarded his right arm, a score of tiny tears in his jacket told the tale, a shotgun blast at far range. He again tried to run, though more obviously a weak shamble, off to the now impossibly far promise of the trees.

He only got as far as a nearby fence. Momentarily considered climbing it, but was clearly too spent. He collapsed, regarding the advancing crowd of bunnies, almost had to laugh at that, bunnies, and where was his pistol? Must have dropped it when he got shot. He then noticed the small stream of blood coming out of his jacket sleeve. That wouldn't do. He groped for the little first aid kit he still had, tucked into his jacket. Maybe he could wrap up his arm a bit? But he was so tired. Maybe he could just catch his breath, close his eyes for a second...

-

"I say let him bleed out!" The elder Rabbit glared at the fallen Cat, half ready to discharge the other barrel of his shotgun into him point blank.

"But DAD!" Young Jeremy was shocked at the notion of not aiding the dying stranger.

"Considering what likely happened to Virgil, simply doing nothing to this one would be a mercy." Stu snarled, thinking of his Son, and the uncounted other sons who had fallen to the clutches of the Enemy.

There was some agreement in the crowd with that, but it was far from unanimous. While the debate continued and the pool of blood on the ground grew, Belle and Judy came up to the scene, still wincing a bit from the earlier gunshots.

"What aren't you taking care of him?" She asked, realizing the impasse.

"What!?" He almost shot you!"

"No, Dad. He very much didn't. He just fired over our heads to scare us so he could escape." Young Belle at her side, though eyes still as big as saucers in surprise, nodded in support.

Though the earlier contact with the Allied Fox and taken the worst of the edge off of any contact with military predators, having an unambiguous example of the Enemy had the old Rabbit's blood up and Judy knew she needed to talk him down. "Besides, there is a bounty on live prisoners. And likely some military intelligence that can be wrung out of an enemy officer." If she could not play to he father's compassion, she could always count on his practical side.

After a pause, he drew in a loud breath and simply stalked off. But the Enemy was hardly unguarded, along with a whole catalog of farming implements arrayed to strike; elder sister Barbara had the pilot's pistol ready. "This is a really nice piece, wish I could keep it." she mused, though kept a close eye on the unconscious aviator. She was in the Female's Reserves, rather embarrassingly home on maternity leave.

Several of the Hopps clan looked to the Cat. Under his flying jacket he used to have a rather nice formal shirt and the remains of a tie. While the shot gun wounds were numerous and messy it was only the cumulative number that threatened and were quickly dealt with. As Judy and Belle had noticed earlier, along with his simply unwashed pong, he had a nastier and unfamiliar reek to him.

As they examined his possessions, his identity papers said he was a Jon Jonson, a Captain, and they found the last of his 'vitamins'. "That might be what his special stink is from. And how ragged he seems." Barbara explained. "They're a kind of pep pill. One can help keep you awake and alert overnight, or perk you up if you're dragging during the day." She regarded his overall condition again. "I'll bet he's the one they've been looking for since last week, and has been living off them all this time."

Rather than attempt to drag him to the main house or back to the barn, they simply kept him where he lay. The weather was nice for a change and any vehicle that might come for him could as easy approach there as anywhere else.

And in less time than they expected, a military truck appeared, complete with a whole squad of infantry on board, just to make sure. A couple of the troops made the connection between the Hopps farm and the 'capture' of the Fox flyer sometime earlier and there was some small joke about the farm, or perhaps it was one of the Hopps Girls, who was attracting aviator's attentions. There was a bounty for enemy flight crews that would be settled later, as well as assurances that, even as he was The Enemy, he would be properly taken care of. And life on the farm settled back to something approximating normal.

-

So, heaven looked like a hospital room and angels looked like hedgehogs. Could be worse. At least things were approaching normal again. The last, however long it was, must be something like what 'fever dreams' must be like. Little scraps of confusion and pain, nightmares and misery.

But being 'normal' again still wasn't any fun. Still felt absolutely wretched. The shotgun wounds, that must have been real after all, though largely healed, itched something fierce. And there was still the remains of the worst hangover in the world lingering around. But being able to tell night from day and wakefulness from delusion was a major relief.

And there were visitors. A couple of foxes in Zootopian officers uniforms. Still can't quite get over that. No doubt here to ask all kinds of questions. Name, rank, and identity number, of course. And? Obviously, from my outfit, I'm a professional footballer, usually play wing.

Of course I wouldn't know about a '109, 'yellow 4', was that even a thing? Would I know who shot it down? Well if I did, it was likely one of these silly red-tailed fellows. Pesky as flies this time of year. That brought a little smirk from them both.

They press me about what I'd been doing for the week of - ? Sightseeing? Beautiful country 'round here. Shame about the weather though.

And about the Hopps Barn. You mean the one with the pretty bunnies? Cute enough to eat- And add a frantic, Figuratively! Seeing the level of reaction from them, especially the older one. Got to remember the New Order has really mucked up any number of expressions in very bad ways. No. Seriously, sorry about the poor choice of words! Everyone calms down. Hope I didn't scare them too badly? Of course I wasn't actually going to shoot anyone. What a ridiculous question. I'm an officer, a pilot, like them, not some common killer.

Then out of hospital and off to the cages. Though in this case, it looks like a summer camp that's been hijacked for the duration, cozy cabins with a couple layers of barbed wire fences around the grounds. Rather sullen room mates though. Not how I'd planned to serve out the war, but could do worse.


	5. OriginChapter 5

**I'm a very 'hard' science-fiction fan and was groping for a plausible explanation for the every species is intelligent aspect for Zootopia and began noodling an idea. But I've got to get busy at other things, so am leaving it as little more than an outline, less than full filled out story.**

Origin

It started with the upgrade at the Zootopian Naval Observatory's radar unit. The powerful yet sensitive unit was essential for examining space objects in a more active fashion and could detect smaller near space objects better than any optical telescope. When the question came up for what to look at once some basic calibrations were done, the suggestion came up to see if there was anything in the various Lagrange points, stable orbital locations in the Earth Moon system.

Nothing was known to be there, at least nothing that had gotten in the way of other observations. But no one had deliberately looked in the areas in question either. The search didn't expect anything, but was keen on due diligence, and it wasn't going to take that much time. So there was some happy surprise to find something. It was small, initial estimates were several hundred square meters and about where one would expect to find something.

As they took a closer look, they found it might be a bit bigger, but its RF albedo seemed unnaturally low. The idea that it might deliberately 'low-observable', an artifact of some kind, caused quite a stir.

The prospect of an alien artifact made for both great headlines and serious consternation among the various national governments. An international consortium was formed, mainly out of mutual suspicion. The object was in local space and was no great technical challenge to get to, but no one wanted to be left out of any critical discoveries, just in case.

Getting a basic probe together was no problem; the distance involved didn't need anything particularly fancy, some cameras and sensors, some maneuvering motors and a fairly minimal computer. The distances involved were so close that real time remote control was easily done.

Depending on what was found, a more sophisticated probe, that could remotely handle and recover samples for return, was being designed in parallel.

The first probe was launched into orbit then on to intercept without a hitch. The cameras began showing details well before closest approach. It was basically a simple cylinder, perhaps ten meters in diameter, and forty long. The whole thing slowly rotated, once every thirty minutes.

When the probe finally got in close, the resulting visual examination was both dramatic and frustratingly limited. It did appear to be simply a manufactured cylinder, the surface composition difficult to determine, possibly a carbon composite with poor radar reflection, though the off-white finish had a fairly high optical albedo. The surface was nearly featureless, though were a few small details that could be vents or thrusters and possibly some UHF antennas and what might be small optical camera turrets. One end had four apertures, possibly rocket nozzles, but without the obvious expansion bells one would expect. There were several spots that looked like hatches. Two large ones about two by two meters amidships, and three additional hatches, likely docking ports, but rather small, only about forty centimeters in diameter.

There was writing visible on several areas, possibly warnings or instructions associated with the other features, and some small notations, labels or possibly manufacturer's identification plates. That the text and numbers were there and in apparent context that seemed perfectly normal was encouraging for life and intelligence not so different. The markings simply a 'foreign' alphabet and the numbers quickly sorted out as base (ten) rather then the familiar base (eight).

The scale of the hardware details, as best could be detected, suggested a smallish hand at work, some screw heads and such were the kind of thing a class A or B size mammal would handle. That fitted well with the scale of the presumed docking hatches.

Other sensors on the probe indicated that the unit was inert, nothing beyond ambient radiations and no emissions beyond sun-warmed surfaces.

How long had it been there? It was hard to say, though the surface was fairly uniformly eroded by micro-meteor action

Other than the unfamiliar material surface and unusual presumed motor exhausts, the thing was not so different than any typical piece of space hardware already in orbit. It was large enough to not been some kind of secret launch, it was nearly as big as a Nova first stage, not the kind of thing that could be missed. Finding that the object seemed so oddly mundane, the idea of a second probe was quickly set aside for a crewed mission to take a truly closer look.

The crewed mission would use one of the new large capacity living/reentry modules coupled to a supplemental living space module and a large examination lab space. For bio-safety reasons, the examination lab would remain depressurized and the researchers would be in special isolation suits over their vac-suits. There would also be high-precession remote manipulators to help keep in-suit time to a minimum. The same system would allow for Earth-based specialists to tele-examine specimens.

The whole vehicle would have a fairly efficient propulsion system, to ease into the Lagrange point and then have thrust enough for return and provide breaking thrust for the whole mission to establish orbit rather than a free fall and direct re-entry of just the one module. That way, specimens could be brought back in the lab section and left in orbit for further study. A direct fall back profile was also drawn up, just in case.

As for the crew, that was a matter of great debate. For a greater collection of expertise and longer mission endurance, the initial suggestion of an all class A and B size mammal crew is formed. Certainly the entry team would have to be so small, if the presumed docking hatches were any indication of the interior volumes. In the large living cabin, there was room to arrange space for up to two dozen crewmembers. That would allow for multiple shifts of a broad range of backgrounds to be focused on what might be found.

However, in part to get the widest international and interspecies participation, and that, with the tele-commute potential, vast Earth-bound teams could be assembled to do analysis remotely, a smaller number of a wider range of species could crew the mission. That would also simplify crew qualifications. The crew merely needed to be excellent technicians, good lab workers, rather than top researchers, to be the hands and eyes of the experts.

Then there was the quiet detail that many experts were either unwilling or unable to make the mission. In fact, as the program advanced, there was an undercurrent impression that the whole crew was considered somewhat expendable. Not that it was actually regarded as a suicide mission, but in facing such a total unknown, imaginations went places.

The overall program was a massive undertaking, in part due to the relative haste of it. With the whole Earth up to discover what it was, budget was no object. Any number of processes that would have taken years of plodding effort under stingy cost containment were now free to surge ahead.

As only some parts were approximately off-the-shelf, there needed to be some flight tests. The craft needed to be launched in parts and assembled in orbit, a complete mission ready first copy was launched and assembled. Along with testing the assembly, this unit also was used for crew training, and if need be, used as a back up for the actual mission. If not, it would serve as additional workspace for the returned mission and its specimens.

Then there was a hard re-entry test of the living capsule, along with the propulsion package. A simulated mass for the whole mission assembly was boosted off to and back from the opposite equivlent Lagrange point. Then the capsule was boosted back out to fall back to test the direct re-entry performance of the unit.

And there were some setbacks. The heavy-lift booster that brought up the mission parts was still regarded as a bit marginal in some aspects, so was only provisionally regarded as crew ready. As such all the crews opted to go up in established standard boosters as used by the International Space Station. This also simplified some of the element launches, as the living modules could be over-stocked with supplies rather than accommodate crews.

Though it was not a crew-related component, one of the heavy launches did fail, loosing a propulsion unit. Though assembling a replacement was not too difficult, re-certifying the booster system, including two new test launches put the over-all program back the better part of a year.

That delay altered the crew mix, as various potential members came and went as time dragged on. Also, as details of the mission and the requirements of the crew were reconsidered and fine-tuned, there were new rounds of training. The analytical crew was now expected to have some expertise in ship's crew functions. That several were already engineers and/or had previous space crew experience helped. The end goal was to have everyone on board able to operate the ship at least a basic level.

Finally, as all the hardware became readied, so to were final crew selections made.

 **(I was thinking of writing the story from Sharla's POV, as she would later become interested in engineering, join the ZAF as a foreign technologies annalist and then gets tagged for astronaut training as a mission specialist. Why a sheep? She was young, smart, eager to go, not too big, and semi-expendable - but we won't mention that last bit)**

The mission launch and all was without mishap, and if anything was rather underwhelming, aside from the fact of mission.

Arrival was without any particular drama, other than the fact of there was an honest to goodness alien ship out there. The first days were spent re-examining the exterior, revealing little new. Then, finally the decision was made to enter the ship.

It would be a ferret who would attempt to open one of the hatches. There appeared to be both a motor drive socket and a manual rotating hatch lock, and with a bit of effort, the manual lock worked, and the hatch swung inward. There was an airlock inside, a simple cylindrical volume with a second larger hatch at the far end. Before attempting to go further, there was a careful examination of the airlock, with emphasis on some instructional placards that experts back home were attempting to translate.

The inner door was clearly designed to open inward, precluding any pressure differential, so there was no chance of a depressurization. The inner chamber appeared to be a space suit service room. Made sense. The room was only about a meter high, plenty of room for the exploring Ferret and his back up Rat. They found approximately rat size space suits in a couple wall lockers. That answered that. And the room's layout assumed a 'down' towards the thrusters, suggesting the ship might run under thrust for extended periods, or at least used that direction as the default.

Just as important, they found a note attached to the far wall form the airlock hatch. It was an internal schematic of the ship, a major first step in its own right, but it had arrows drawn on it to indicate that they should proceed to what might be the command center or cockpit of the ship. While it was quickly agreed that they should follow the map, they still made a thorough examination of the room. Along with space suits and related hardware, they also found what might be small robots, perhaps little helper 'bots. Little more than boxes with small legs or arms on each corner and a 'neck' with a multi-camera little 'head' on one end.

With a little trial and error, they discovered that the ship's hull was strongly shielded for EM/RF and so they used a fibre-optic ribbon to keep in touch with their ship and the anxious world, which was watching all this live.

As they proceeded through the ship, they found the layout did seem to favor the one 'down' direction, to the point that there was carpeting on some of the floor areas and all the text signs and placards were aligned so.

The ship's bridge was a semicircular room lined with workstations and articulated crew couches, all scaled for more or less rat-sized bodies. There was one central couch, and it was occupied.

It had been a rat, not so different than any in Zootopia, perhaps an unfamiliar race or species, but nothing at all alien. It looked like it was old, rather white around the muzzle, in a simple jumpsuit-like one-piece overall. Clipped to its body was a note, a couple pages worth, some words and some sketchy cartoons. Instructions to look to books. One of the wall areas had several shelves of books; most were ship's systems manuals. But one, with a note attached was the one to read first.

It was an illustrated dictionary, though started off with science basics, references to time space and volume, using a system just like their own metric system, using water and the speed of light as fundamental basics. It went on to explain phonetics and the symbol logy of an alphabet. To everyone's delight, it didn't look any more foreign than any of the more dissimilar languages back on Earth.

So the world came to find out about how it all began.

The rats came from another Earth, an alternate universe, where only one species, unrelated to anything there, had evolved intelligence and developed a technic civilization. But though it was clever, it was not wise, and brought about its own demise. But before doing so, had genetically modified a small group of rats to sentience, and they bred true, inheriting a world now devoid of their creators.

The rats created their own civilization, which eventually lead to space and even the stars. It was that interstellar technology, involving a distortion of the fabric of space, that accidentally discovered an alternate universe, this Earth. With the prospect of a virgin world with the broad range of extant species, the rats decided on a vast experiment, to modify all the mammals into intelligence.

Exactly how they did that was not included in the material left on the ship.

But this revelation did a lot to explain some of the mysterious and confusing details in the new science of genetics. How some features at the genomic level were reasonably consistent with evolutionary theory, yet some seemed perversely anomalous, advanced and presumably recent features that were too similar across all lines to have been parallel evolution. Further, there were paleontological evidence that these features were entirely absent until very recently as well.

Speculation was rampant, but evidence entirely lacking. The scientific community had heretofore half-heartedly suggested some exotic mutagenic circumstance, but had to admit they simply didn't have a good explanation.

The ship's notes answered that question.

Also aboard were extensive manuals and technical information on the ship, its interstellar drive, and the underlying technologies for it all. But as much of the technical base for it was still several generations of advancement beyond what was current, it would be a while before they would have their own starships.

There was a final tragic note to all that the ship contained.

The sole dead inhabitant's note made it clear that he was not suppose to have come and leave all that the ship contained to some future. But he had done so to give them some answers and an opportunity to jump-start their way to the stars. However, he included a warning not to seek the alternate universe from which he had come. He did not explain why, except that things had gone badly and they ought not risk the fate of his species.

 **All this was going to be a fully fleshed out story, but time and interest waned and so I'm posting it in this raw form just for show and tell. And, yes, it is a Rat of NIMH tie-in.**


	6. The Veiwing

**First, let me say I don't know anything about the specific personalities involved with the real life production of Zootopia, and am playing fast and loose with some stereotyping of some of the kind of obnoxious 'suits' that infest any film studio, especially that which can arise in a film's creative adaptation of real events. And in my fan fiction, I tend to go with an interpretation of the move as over-done action/comedy rather than history and the real story is a but more subdued.**

"So, what do you think?" The Director asked.

"Keep in mind that was just fill-in music for it. The final compositions are done and performed, just not fully timed in yet." Added the Assistant Producer.

Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps sat slack-jawed over what they just saw. It was suppose to be a movie about their exploits regarding the notorious Bellwether Plot that had catapulted them to fame as well as being a watershed moment for species relations in Zootopia.

'Uhm, I liked Goodwin playing Hopps." Nick cautiously suggested.

'Yeah," Judy added weakly, "Elba for Bogo was a great bit of casting."

"And?" While the Director asked it, the whole cluster of anxious executives and staff were all thinking it. This rough-cut screening was the first many had seen of the approximately completed project. They'd committed no small part of their careers to this film and now waited for the source, the inspiration of all they'd worked for to react.

Nick and Judy exchanged pained expressions.

"Wet cement? I understand the joke and all - " Judy trailed off. She still didn't like having her dignity messed with, even after all the good-natured abuse she got from her partner since.

"Yeah, I don't mind how you had me piss on her parade that first day. Glad you didn't use my original language though." Nick admitted. "All part of the mood setting." He looked to Judy with just a twinge of guilt, remembering how cruelly his words had cut that day, and even years later was still a painful memory for him.

"The sad music and awful 'phone call was pretty good. Didn't happen but sure caught the mood of the time." Judy had clearly enjoyed that scene, but continued on a more serious note. "I know you did it for laughs, but I can only hope Clauhauser won't be hurt when he sees what you've done to him."

"Yeah, he's a good guy and was more of a help than you suggested."

A pause, then they both blurted out. "Mr. Big?!"

"You have to admit that simply tracking down Manchas as a taxi driver before he goes savage didn't make for much running time."

"But!" Judy was shocked and dismayed, "Consorting with a fictional crime boss, then using him to extort information out of Weasleton. What kind of Officer of the Law do you take me for?!" She was getting a bit heated at that slight.

"I can live with the toilet joke and such at Cliff Side, but the train ride?" Nick was a bit incredulous. And neither were going to mention the infamous press incident and the subsequent scenes. That was a bit closer to true and still a bit of trigger for both of them.

"Come on." Marketing replied. "A great bit of action, some jokes, some ancillary marketing." He then leered, "Better than your little undercover jaunt as a gutter bunny, eh?"

"Hey! Watch your mouth!" Nick snapped. "We agreed to all the usual 'creative interpretation' clauses and all that, but we haven't signed off on any promotional support." He gave a pointed glare at several of the studio suits, "And that crack is going to cost you."

"Nick." Judy whispered, "What are you doing?"

"Just tired of being regarded as merely 'content' or 'product'." He then sighed and collected himself. "The movie is a lot of fun, and I do hope you make a ton with it. But real mammals lived through the real thing and the casual disregard some of you have for us and them in the process - " He shook his head.

Nick made to leave, gave a little apologetic nod to some of the creative team and ushered Judy out of the viewing theater.

"You okay?" Judy gave her Fox a little hug.

"Yeah. It's just that smug classism behind the attitude on a couple of those. This whole town is just toxic with overwrought 'status'."

"Well, we're now contractually free and clear of all this if we want to at this point." Judy reassured him.

"Yeah, they have us scheduled for a couple more days, but it's nothing but another round of limp pawshakes and fake smiles. We can catch the morning train back home if you want?"

"Let's look into it."

As they headed to the studio exit, Judy mused about the movie a bit. "It would have been so much easier if we'd gotten some kind of classic villain monologue instead of all the computer forensics and the iffy testimony of those rams who rolled over on Bellwether."

"Yeah, as a popcorn rollercoaster, the movie Was fun. But, I wonder what your family will think of it?" Nick nudged.

"Oh Whiskers, they'd be happy if they'd been played by cannibalistic hyenas in bunny drag, as long as they got the names right."

"That's an oddly specific image - "

"And it could have been worse."

"Bateman was alright to look at, but was a tad smarmy for my taste."

"Humph! Bateman? You'd compare him with this noble countenance!" Nick stuck a pose.

"Yes, Nick. You are the epitome of Vulpine beauty." Said, dripping with sarcastic snark.

"Okay, Officer Hopps. Enough. So let's go home and make that world a better place." 


	7. Sequel 2-1

**This was going to be another direct sequel to the Movie, but more an examination of Nick and Judy rather than a big case. Then, belatedly, there was a chance for a case that would involve them on a personal level. But in the end, the story was supposed to end with them not becoming a couple and how their lives would go on. Not very satisfying as a story the more I thought about it. So all I have are these couple of fragments that might have some small entertainment value.**

"You know you love me."

"Do I know that? Yes, Yes I do."

That, or some version of it had a running joke for a good while between Nick and Judy, but at the moment...

Nick was driving the rental back to Zootopia after the worst weekend in his life. His belly still burned from the anxiety-vomiting jag he had that morning, over and above the wicked hangover he was only partly recovering from. He didn't dare look over to the miserable grey bundle that he could hear trying not to sob in the passenger seat.

Judy would more commonly do the driving, as he had to admit, he was awful at it. But she couldn't at the moment, too emotionally wreaked to do much of anything. Yet another detail of disaster for what was supposed to be a special little holiday out to the coast.

The miles and the clock ground on, and Nick finally had to consider making a stop, for biology, if nothing else, and to try to get some proper food into him. "Judy, I'm gonna look for a pit stop in the next town, any preferences?"

"What are we going to do tomorrow?" Was the one thing he wasn't prepared to hear, yet desperately wanted to discuss.

"Try to make the world a better place?" He said softly, gently.

A long pause, then, "Anything but Ratburger."

And with that, Nick knew there was some hope.

They'd been on the force together for a good while now, a remarkable blend of enthusiastic zeal and cynical street smarts that had enjoyed a spectacular success in the effort to make Zootopia the best it could be for its citizens. Or so went the hype. And they were, in fact, a great crime-fighting team, with talk of fast-tracking them in promotions and advancement to full detectives.

However, they were both emotionally needy in their personal lives, neither had family or close friends readily at hand when they met. Having had such a harrowing set of shared experiences early on, they clung together for mutual support. True, they became best friends and police partners with the kind of rapport that most officers would envy. But still after a good while, they only had each other to rely on, and in that the problem arose.

Their common routine included often long grueling shifts making the world a better place. Their witty repartee keeping them sharp and alert, and as needed it became lightening fast brainstorming that could solve a problem or crack a case in record time. But being so 'up' necessitated down time, and they routinely spent their off time together as well, relaxing in each other's soothing proximity.

But that down time together was just end of shift or normal weekend recreation. "Turning of their brains' as they called it. So, when the opportunity for a long holiday came up, they thought it would be fun to spend some extended time with each other. The unspoken thought in both of them was that it could be a bit of a test run to see if they could deal with being roommates. As a practical matter, they already spent most of their time together, and pooling resources, they could share a much better living space than what they could individually.

A deeper and not consciously acknowledged thought was that it might explore some closer relationship between them as well. Judy was still young and inexperienced enough to have some over-Romanized notions, and Nick had been too single for too long to not entertain thoughts as well.

To their dismay, they found that the kind of little back and forth which kept them up and ready on the beat quickly became a grating annoyance outside that context. So much so that after several days of such, they had mutually exploded in frustrated rage at the cumulative irritation. Angry, hurtful things were said in the heat of the moment, and they both recoiled from their own words, both for what was said and how the other reacted.

Judy spent the last night of their holiday locked in the bathroom, crying over the hurt sent and received, then in the regret that it had all gone so out of control to go that far, and finally in the dread of what might well have been lost in all that.

Nick simply drank the whole of the mini-bar to temporarily flee the pain. He was not much of a drinker; it was not a safe or sane practice in the bad old days. The last time he had fled to the bottle was after that dreadful day of Judy's press conference so long ago.

They got back to town that night. Nick dropped Judy off at her apartment, so much wanting to say something, anything, to help in any way. But after it all, he took the safe route, "Take care of yourself, and see you tomorrow."

Judy so wanted to say so much in return, but too played it safe. "You too." To a very weak smile.

The next day was quiet and polite. No quips, no idle chatter, textbook policing procedures from the morning briefing to final check out.

After a couple days of that they were both miserable, but dared not do anything, hoping beyond hope that time might put some distance between that week end and their still fragile recovery.

Finally, while on break, while he fiddled with a claw, carefully watching himself making little sketchy motions on the table between them, Nick addressed his partner, "Officer Hopps, I wish I could get Judy back."

Judy groaned and pinched between her eyes, "I know, I miss Nick too."

Nick still kept looking at his invisible scribbles, "I think I know why it went wrong."

Judy cringed but dared not say anything.

"Think of our banter on the job as honing a knife." And he pantomimed holding a whetstone and stroking a blade over it. "It keeps us sharp and ready for anything. Always up for the mission, so to speak." He then grimaced, "But outside that context, the honing becomes a grind." And he gestured as though the knife-edge was being jammed into the stone. "And the process wreaks the blade."

"So, we have to keep our back and forth for on the job?" Judy looked away sadly.

"Would you really want to become a zombie off the clock? Then, what would be the point? You need to be you all the time." The unspoken he needed to be him was all too obvious.

"Sure, we both zone out at the end of a shift, but that's different. But you saw how we grated on each other after a couple days off the beat."

Judy wanted to whine, to cry, to rage, at the uncaring fates for that cruel irony. Instead, she sighed. "Let's see if we can get that old edge back, perhaps incrementally, even if we have to limit our off time together." That stabbed like a knife as well. Nick was her only comfort, her only real friend in the city, and acknowledging that there was yet a problem with that, hurt so bad.

But they pressed on. They did their shifts, occasionally shared dinner or a movie, even did a little social grooming, once in a while, but there was no long cuddles or over nights. It wasn't perfect, but something they could live with for a while, hopefully.

Nick sought out Finnick, but he was often unavailable, with a new job and girlfriend. While he had had long social dry spells in the past, and heretofore would have shrugged this off, after the quality time with Judy, the loss was more acute.

Judy didn't even have that. And as a more inherently social creature, it bore more heavily on her.

 **Later Judy takes a break and goes home for a little while**

Later, Bonny drew Judy aside for a little heart to heart.

"You're not getting over loosing Nick, are you?"

Judy made a little sad face. " It isn't that we don't see each other nearly every day, but, yes, I did loose him in a way. We had an - I don't know - an innocence in our relationship before. That we could share in each other's company so fully. I even had hopes."

Bonny's face scrunched in pain for her daughter. "I know. And I had some hopes for you two as well." Judy started at that. "And so did your Father, though he'd never admit it." Now Judy was shocked. "Oh yes. When he saw how devoted Nick was, all his fears just melted away."

Bonny sat back and considered. "Your Father is a bit deeper than he seems at times. When he gets riled-up he tends to spout off a bit, like with all his paranoid bits when you first got ready to the big city. Remember?" Judy couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of the arsenal of fox gear he tried to give her back then. "But he actually knows more about how foxes really are, and how they protect and support their mates."

000000

"Officer Down!" A part of Nick's brain thought it funny he'd have to be calling that in on himself. But it was that oddly detached train of thought he'd get when he was going into critical shock. The last time he'd been so badly hurt, he'd giggled through the worst of it, not that it was at all humorous, but that his system was so wracked with pain that his brain had gone slightly 'tilt' instead of simply shrilling with agony.

This time, he considered, with some satisfaction, that he had finally subdued his attacker with a couple of trank shots to the crotch, as the initial sensation of the drug darts was a sharp burning pain as well as a firm wack at close range. That he had done so while underneath the assailant, he was being stomped by a very big bovine of some kind, was a bit much though.

Now, if only he had dialed up his trank gun going in. But that was never a good idea when faced with a totally unknown situation. The darts were intended to be a non-lethal way to deal with suspects, and so much ZPD indoctrination was about keeping everyone alive. With that in mind, he'd had his gun dialed down to a class C sized mammal. Dialed up to an F or G would be dangerous to a D size and lethal to C or smaller.

But that was then. Now he was badly crunched, though didn't seem to be leaking too much, a small relief. And there was Judy, looking Very Concerned.

"Hey, Carrots." Got to keep cool for her sake, bunnies can be so emotional, but the wet gurgle as he spoke, and now with his breath, was not suppose to be a thing.

"Oh Glob, Nick!" She tried to grip his paw, but saw how mangled it was and - oh dear he was fading out.

00000

Friends and relations of police officers hate unexpected 'phone calls. At minimum it meant a shift change or some other disappointment. Then there was the other kind. Worse was the knock on the door.

Jenna saw Officer Hopps and her blood ran cold.

"Is it about Nick?"

"Yeah. But you were not on the formal notification list, so I thought I'd come to see if you - ?"

"Oh Glob Yes!" The poor Vixen's face ran through a whole spectrum of emotions. "What happened?"

"He got stepped on." Judy made an angry face, "Repeatedly. He's in hospital now. I can give you a ride over there if you - ?"

"Oh please!" Then as they got into the police cruiser, "How bad?" Jenna was about Nick's age, and was levelheaded enough to not panic or go to tears. And now seemed to be all business.

"A broken arm, some broken ribs. There's some internal injuries and he's still in surgery, but last I heard it was going well." Judy gave her a quick glance to see her reaction.

"What a Todd won't do to get out of a formal dinner date." Jenna tried to be light, but the set of her jaw and ears hinted at fear and frustration.

"Oh?"

"Company likes to do special events. There was a super formal dining and dancing thing coming up and Nick was 'unenthusiastic'." Exactly the kind of event he had no patience for.

"Yeah, I can see that." Judy could imagine Nick joking about just that kind of thing.

"How did it happen?"

Judy grimaced at that. "Nick was surprised and I wasn't there to cover him." Though it wasn't as cut and dried as that, Judy was taking it hard and was prepared to take a major hit for it.

"And what really happened?" Jenna knew the quality of the partners' dedication to each other.

Judy gave her a look, how did she know? Then, grudgingly, "We thought we knew who and where the suspect was. Nick got one door; I got another around the back. Instead Nick got stomped by an other actor that was there instead, fleeing a warrant, a big bull Eland."

"Oh cheese." Jenna had not been with Nick long, but she had a good grasp of the likely risks of police work. But she wasn't really prepared to be faced with this level of crisis.

"Sorry about the awkward notification, but like I said, Nick didn't have you on his list." Judy then thought, "But for that matter, he doesn't have anyone on his notification list, besides me."

Judy saw a look on Jenna's face, "I really didn't know where your relationship was at the moment."

The Vixen cocked her head curiously.

"Well, he hasn't been talking about you lately." Judy felt really uncomfortable about going there, but it seems like it was something that needed to be clarified. "When you two first got together, he went on about you constantly. He was so gushy, like a big first crush."

She looked over to Jenna, who now had a little bit of a smile to it.

"He couldn't wait to show you off. I thought he was going to burst getting ready for that first dinner introduction." Judy smiled, it had been a comedy of errors, but the Vixen had made a great first impression that had not been disappointed since.

"Then there was a short period when he got sullen, no jokes, no chatter. He wasn't angry or sad, as far as I could tell, just uncommunicative about much of anything."

"Then, suddenly, he was good old Nick. Up for anything, except any mention of you. I even thought you two had broken up at first, with the moody bit and all. But he needed some schedule adjustments and mentioned they were for you." Judy's brow furrowed with that, "And he simply was not going to give me any kind of answer when I tried to press him on it. It was really weird. He didn't seem at all upset or anything, just wasn't going to talk about you."

Jenna chewed a claw for a moment. "Her never talks about his family to you, does he?"

"Oh, gosh no. I could barely get that he even had a Mother, nothing on a Father or any other kin."

"Yeah, I was afraid of that."

"Well, foxes can be kind of private and possessive of their families in the best of times and Nick is -ah- more so."

Judy nodded. Nick was all about his privacy and personal secrets. The great gondola/Junior Ranger Scout revelation was one of the few little candid glimpses that he had ever allowed in the several years they now had together.

"And I guess I've fallen into the category of family."

Seeing Judy's shocked confusion, she explained. "Nick has begun formally courting me."

"OHMYGOB! That's wonderful!" Judy struggled to keep the car on the road. Then she regrouped, "But why would he - ?"

"Well, by getting serious about the two of us, I guess he's also drawing me into his innermost secret circle. I'm a bit surprised about his not including you though."

"Yeah. Except for the news blackout regarding you, he's been totally normal."

"On the other paw." Jenna looked at Judy a bit awkwardly. "He is constantly talking about you."

Judy looked disturbed at that and Jenna explained. "It's not like ex-girlfriend talk, just day at work with the most awful partner in the force talk." The grin on her face made it clear that she meant it in the best possible way.

Judy shared the smile. She could just see him going into some over-theatric rant how she'd spoilt his perfect donut or other cruel trespass.

 **So. In the end, Nick would have a happy family with Jenna and Judy would have a successful career.**


	8. Officer Sharp

**A while back, the wonderful artist known as 'nik159' posted a super cute illustration of Judy giving Duke Weaselton's little Niece a Junior ZPD badge sticker, on the site Fur Affinity. The little girl was darling, but there was also a bit of tense interplay between Judy and Duke. I thought about that scene and where it might go into the future. This would pretty much fit in with the current "Judy's New Life' story line, but I'm posting it here to keep it as a little stand alone.**

Lunch break and Detective Wilde went to one of his favorite little street food vendors. It was on a tree-lined boulevard with plenty of random seating and picnic tables, public yet anonymous. As he worked on his crunchy tofu sticks, he was not surprised to see a familiar form sit nearby.

"Long time, Duke." Nick didn't look over at the little mustelid.

"Yeah, Detective."

Everyone was playing it cool to start.

"Your new gig seems to suit you." Nick had noticed that Weaselton looked rather tidy, even respectable.

"Who'd a thunk it?" Duke considered things for moment, "But I'm not here for my employment history." But he seemed reluctant to go on.

Nick could wait.

Finally, "It's my Sister's Kid, she's - . Well, me and my Sister don't get along so good, all the old biz, ya know. So I can't really keep up with family like I'd like." He rubbed his muzzle mournfully, "And I can't find out about how little Beth is doin'." He sighed. "She was the cutest little thing back in the day. Smart as a whip."

"Uhm, what do you think I could do? Parental interference and all."

"That's the thing. She's grown up. In fact, she's just graduated from the academy. She's a cop. Can you believe it?"

Nick was surprised. He had heard that there was a weasel graduate this cycle, though what in the world would the ZPD do with a class B size mammal was beyond him. Little Rodentia had its own security force, all class A tiny creatures, but class B were in the general population, and even Nick and Judy in their time as patrol officers often had a hard time dealing with larger trouble.

"That's your Niece? Color me impressed." Nick then considered, "So, what's the problem?"

"I don't know how she feels about me. I haven't seen her in, like fifteen years, and I don't know if she'd even want to see me."

Nick frowned, just a little. "And why do you want to see her?"

Duke grimaced, "Just to let her know I always thought about her. And, while I wasn't always on the right side of the law, I'm proud of her for what's she's doing."

"So - you want me to what? Sound her out? Ask if she wants anything to do with her old jailbird Uncle?"

"Cheeze! Wilde! Always looking for the cheap shot." But he almost smiled, seeing the wicked little grin on Nick's muzzle. "Okay, you got me."

"Yeah. I can do that. She's in our precinct even, so it ought to be no sweat."

0000

Back at the precinct, Nick was surprised that Elizabeth Sharp was assigned to SWAT, and had to wait until the unit got back from an incident. In the meantime, he found out that she had been chosen for her size and intelligence for special insertion and surveillance. Remote sensing technology still had some critical weaknesses and being able to get live eyes into a situation and assess the circumstance on the spot, especially with a good nose to help, would be a hoped for improvement.

From what Nick could find out so far was that Officer Sharp was too new to yet prove her worth in a real incident, thankfully, such were rare, but she had drilled well.

Well, if she was going to be out for a while, then back to the office.

Avila was waiting for him, a pawfull of files ready to deal with.

"Ya know, you're never going to get on my good side with that kind of greeting." Nick recoiled in mock effrontery.

"But my Capitan, how can the forces of E-vile be kept at bay without the paperwork?"

"Yes, you're right." Nick deflated in dismay.

Later, when he got a free moment, he checked to see if the SWAT team was back yet, and was happy to note that they were en route at the moment.

Nick figured they would need some time to gear off and such so waited until close to closing to find the new officer. When he did go to the SWAT office, he was met by the unit commander, a tough looking wolverine named Smith.

"So what do we owe the pleasure, Detective Wilde?"

"Well Captain Smith, just wanted a brief personal bit with your new officer."

"Sharp? Well, you'll have to wait a mo. She just got her first darting, so has to do the drill."

"Really? What happened, or can I ask?"

"It's okay. There was a domestic turned hostage. Negotiation wasn't working and we were afraid it was going to go out of control."

"Uhm." Nick knew all too well how that could go.

"She was able to get in and not only keep us assessed on how things were going, but was able to safely take down the actor when it looked like things were going sour." Captain Smith beamed at the thought.

"That's great." Nick was delighted that her first test had gone so well.

"Yeah. I kind of dreaded having someone like her on the team, ya know? But she's got what it takes to do the job."

"As do we all." And they shared a look. Nick knew that Captain Smith was also the first of his kind on the force and not without some small controversy. But like Nick himself, demonstrated that he could perform above and beyond stereotype.

Presently, the small Mustelid in question came up to report. Even when upright, Nick couldn't help but notice the almost snaky fluidity to her movements. She was still in her tactical suit, a variation of Judy's classic look, but without the torso cover and wearing a utility vest instead.

"Captain, I just got cleared with the initial debrief." Sharp chirped, awaiting orders.

"Well, other than the obligatory paperwork, you're good. Though Detective Wilde would like a minute with you." The Wolverine nodded to them both and shuffled off.

"Sir?" Sharp showed just a bit of awe and trepidation at being in the attention of the Famous Fox.

"Don't worry kid. I'm just co-worker Nick at the moment. Nothing official." Nick considered how to approach the topic. He had to remind himself that though she looked like the cutest little kit of a weasel and too young to possibly be an officer, how she could be related to that raggedity-ass Duke was a mystery, she was also among the brightest and best of the new ZPD.

"Do you recall your Uncle Duke?"

"Sure. I know he was a character, but we got along fine. He'd baby-sit for me or take me out for stuff when Mom was at work." She smiled briefly in the memory, then flicked to concern. "He's not- ?"

"In trouble, again? No, nothing like that." Nick smiled. "He just wanted to hear about how you were doing and such." Then proceeded a bit warily, "He indicated he and your Mother don't quite - ."

"Oh gosh yes." A little sad face. "I knew from fairly early on that he was, ya know. But my Mom did have some affection for him, and he really helped with keeping an eye on me." She sighed, "But he got arrested one too many times and she was getting some guilt by association trouble. So that was the end of that."

"Well, he's gone straight for a few years now. Doing okay. But like I said, he was wondering how you were doing."

Sharp shook her head in a wistful fashion, "Uncle Duke -. Sure. In fact, do you have a contact number or anything for him?"

"Sure." And Nick offered her Duke's 'phone number.

"Thanks. It will be fun to see him again." She thought a moment of better times. "Huh. You know, it was hearing about you and Hopps that got me to thinking about law enforcement in the first place. And it was while I was out with Uncle Duke that I actually met Hopps. She even gave me one of those sticker badges. Still have it."

Nick recalled his sticker badge with a bit of a twinge. "I'll tell her about that. She must have handed out a million of those things back in the day. At least one of them finally did some good."

00000

"Guess who I saw today?"

Judy gave her fox such a look, as she hated his 'guess who' line.

Seeing the expression, "Okay, it was Duke Weaselton."

"Really? Hope it wasn't in an official capacity."

"Nope, he's still a sterling example of Zootopian ideals." Said with a bit of an eye roll. "He wanted me to reach out and reconnect with his Niece."

"Oh, that little kit - Beth - was it?" While Judy didn't 'know everyone' the way Nick did, she did have a good head for anyone she did meet.

"As a matter of fact, she took you sticker badge to heart and she's now Officer Sharp, with Precinct One's SWAT unit."

"Wait a minute. I heard about Sharp, first weasel on the force and all that. That was little Beth?"

"Uhuh. And she was out in her first action today. A righteous darting in a domestic gone bad."

"Wow. That's - wow." Judy shook her head. Then glanced to the sound of the Twins in the next room. "Think they'd ever?"

Nick shrugged. "Almost hope they don't."

Judy gave him a puzzled look.

"I just want them to choose their own path. No pressure to follow in footsteps or anything like that. And if they did, they'd be constantly compared, judged even, against our legacy."

Judy grimaced with that. "Yeah, that would be the opposite of good."

"Not good?" Nick prompted, and they both chuckled at the little 'Duke-ism'.


	9. Sharp's Big Adventure

**Now that I created a character, I need to thrust her into a major dramatic circumstance.**

Elizabeth Sharp was in the SWAT ready room when it began. To be able to react quickly, the SWAT team offices were towards the back of the First Precinct building, right next to the vehicle bay. As such, it was isolated from a lot of the day to day traffic and minor dramas, though there were a bank of monitors covering the entrance and other critical areas of the building, just in case.

There was a warning bleat, a possible approaching threat to the building, and one of the displays changed to a camera looking out across the front of the building and into the plaza beyond. These screens were duplicates of the even more extensive surveillance that the command center had to keep an eye on things. A brief flash of movement, a small object running across the ground. A tiny vehicle, small enough to be a toy, or mouse-size compact car of some kind, perhaps, heading right to the front entrance.

It struck the doors and exploded, knocking the doors askew; the transparencies were armor glass that only cracked, so there was no great shower of debris, but a lot of smoke inside and out.

"What the ?" Sharp and her fellow officers said in unison.

Captain Smith was particularly puzzled. "That was almost too weird. We'd always worried about some kind of vehicle attack, but a class A size thing with a firecracker?" He thought a moment. "On your toes, beasties, this could be a distraction!"

The building intercom blared, "There has been an incident at the front entrance. Other than the bomb squad, everyone needs to sit tight and stay out of the way, though keep an eye out for anything else."

But barely had that been uttered that there was a new alarm, one that took a fraction for anyone to recognize. And with it was the shocking sound of Clauhauser gasping from his own intercom feed, "Gas attack! Gas - !" Which ended with a fumbling thump.

The Command Center intercom feed sounded, "All personnel, evacuation plan Delta. Do not attempt to enter the main lobby or open any doors directly to the lobby. Positive pressure plan is being activated." That meant that the building air system was now set to over-pressure the various offices to blow any toxics away and hopefully out of the building.

For the SWAT team, dealing with poison gas was something they had trained for, so had their full chemical suits on in an instant. These were military style rubberized overalls with a close-fitting hooded mask rather than a dome or visered helmet. As each was ready, a unique identity beacon flashed on each suit to make it clear they were the properly authorized personnel. Many drills included bad guys attempting to infiltrate situations within the anonymity of featureless suits.

All but Sharp carried full on assault weapons, not knowing what yet might be in store. She had, instead, chemical testers and first aid kits, and she ran to the lobby and the front desk. There she found Clauhauser, collapsed behind his desk, but with his own gas mask on and a spent atropine injector in his paw.

"Clauhauser is alive!" She called out on her comm. She then popped several test vials and strips to see what kind of chemistry was actually involved. As she waited for reactions, she was joined by one of her team mates, ready to help move the unconscious cheetah, and one of the bomb squad beasts, also suited up, though in a hazardous materials 'spacesuit', holding out a chemical analyzer.

"Looks like a class C volatile nerve agent." Sharp referred to a card with reactive patches as well as special swabbed test surfaces.

"Rodger that. Have it on my testers too." Getting confirming reactions from several sources was the only way to be sure. Many poisonous agents were actually mists or powders, miniscule particles of chemicals that floated in the air. This was a gas, a vapor, a liquid that had both been sprayed and evaporated into the atmosphere, more difficult to defend against, as it needed to be chemically contained rather than simply filtered.

Then getting Clauhauser out of the lobby was the next order of business. A side exit kept him away from more obvious exposure as he was carried out. All the while the SWAT team's comms were busy, letting everyone know there did not yet seem to be any additional threat, and that there was a wide safety perimeter being established outside, especially down wind.

Then, just as their collective pulse was beginning to settle, a potential new crisis.

"Traffic monitors just had a tanker truck driving into the middle of Central Plaza. Be ready for anything!"

Sharp needed to concentrate. While two of her teammates warily watched the lobby area with their weapons ready, she went around the vast space, swabbing surfaces to assess the extent of contamination. There were a pair of bomb squad beasts doing the same thing, the area was huge and they needed to be thorough. Since the poison was a gas, there was little accumulation on surfaces; aerosols would tend to fall out over time, making surfaces dangerous even if the air was more or less clear. She opened up new test cards every few minutes to see how far the toxic cloud had gotten into the building.

The back of the lobby had the entrances to various offices, and even through her mask, Sharp could hear the wheeze of escaping air through the doors. The positive pressure system was working, keeping the gas out of those spaces. She could see nervous staff trapped in some rooms, and she gestured that things were not too bad, and that it was only a matter of time before they could safely escape. Her tests, and the chemical sniffer carried by the bomb squad showed that there was minimal contamination in the area, but better to be safe for now.

Throughout all this, things were rather quiet. The team was communicating with hand gestures rather than cluttering up the comm nets with chatter, and their particular channel didn't have a lot to say, letting them do their job rather than distract them with what other teams were up to. Most of SWAT was now outside, and as they were suited up, kept security in likely hot spots while regular officers managed the outer safe spaces.

Then. "All units. The tanker truck in the middle of Central Plaza claims to be full of the same chemical agent as what was used on the precinct. Safety perimeters, especially down wind, are now void, and there is now a general evacuation order for the entire city center."

Sharp could hardly believe it. SWAT had been trained to deal with some level of chemical terrorism, and she knew how awful such weapons could be, but this scale of attack was unthinkable. But she had her immediate job to do and she kept her focus.

As such, she noticed that detectable contamination had fallen off to near zero now that they were well towards the back of the lobby space, furthest from the entrance. "You seeing this?" She asked the closest bomb squad beast, a Bobcat named Robbi.

"Yeah, back here, it looks like we're the primary source of detectables. Not even any on the floor." Having been in the area of heavier concentrations, little eddies of gas still swirled around them.

After consulting with the NBC (nuclear/biological/chemical) specialist, it was decided that the remaining office space was safe enough to evacuate. Fortunately, many of the offices were interconnected, so the bulk of the floor was able to leave.

Sharp was relieved that so many were able to get out, but there were still a few up forward who would have to wait for more airing and possibly decontamination teams to clear the way.

"Can't they get out through the back windows?" Robbi asked.

Someone else answered back, "Nope. There was an eddy in the wind around the building. That corner is hot, caught a few folks who went the wrong way 'round."

Then Captain Smith was on the comm. "Sharp, Tanner, Jackson, and a couple of the bomb squad guys, meet me at the far north exit."

Sharp looked to Robbi, who checked in with his commander, then shrugged and signaled that he was to go with her.

Shortly they were all there. Given the all clear, everyone had their masks or helmets off. Captain Smith had a laptop open and on to a map of the plaza. "The tanker is sitting directly over the main drain intersection, likely on purpose." The Badger angrily pulled at his muzzle. "A NBC specialist suggested that even if they don't blow the tank up, they do have it wrapped with explosives, any major leak would run into the storm drains. And that would be bad." Seeing the puzzled looks, he explained. "The drains are not water tight, intending to let water seep in from saturated soil in a storm. Ya know, storm drain and all. If the tank has the same thing that hit the building, it will soak into the now dry ground and be a deadly nuisance for octades to come. Clean up would not be impossible, but releases of gas would mean much of the city would be dangerously uninhabitable for the process, which would take years, at least."

"And that's if it just leaks. And there will still be a gas cloud out of it. If they blow the tank, it could cover everything down wind for who knows how many kilometers, across the city and well out into the countryside. We could be talking body counts into the millions."

"So, the bright beasts in an un-named agency have the brilliant idea of nuking the thing before it gets loose." He waved down the expected exclamations. "I know, a cure that seems worse than the problem. But they're talking about a really tiny bomb, just enough to incinerate the thing on the spot with minimal collateral damage."

Seeing the gob-smacked reaction of the assembled officers, he pressed on. "We're talking less than a hundred ton yield. It'll punch a nasty hole in the middle of the plaza and break windows all over, but they claim minimal fall out."

"Isn't there going to be a radiation pulse with the detonation?" Jackson asked. He was into military technology and science.

"Yes. The evacuation order around the plaza for the gas risk will double as a radiation exposure radius. Basically, anyone not line of sight and/or more than a kilometer away won't have any real risk. And even the flash is minimal, no burn and limited blinding hazard."

"So, we wheel the thing up under the truck, just like that?"

"Pretty much. The whack jobs in the truck all but challenged us to do just that. But more on the level of some kind of commando action or some such. And they could blow the thing at any time. That's why we have to keep this very hush hush, as this is the one thing that might actually work against them."

Everyone looked at each other in a bit of confusion and incredulity, then Jackson asked. "Okay, what are we going to do?" Gesturing at the assembled officers.

"The un-named agency will be bringing the device in shortly and has some agents who will actually set it up. What we need are a couple officers to go in up front and check out the site and assist." Smith looked directly at Sharp. "That would mean you, ideally. Need some climbing and scampering."

She glanced around to the rest, and saw in their faces what she knew herself. This was likely a suicide mission. She nodded.

Captain Smith looked to the rest. Finally, he asked Robbi, "Do you know how to handle a gun?"

"Uh? Basically, of course." He was momentarily puzzled, then, "Ah, you might need more climbing, and NBC training." He looked over to Sharp. "Together again. The new heroes of Zootopia."

"Yeah, but you're not my type." Sharp smirked, implying the very famous couple.

They were driven to a utility access point in the storm drain system in a van that could let them out well within the underground tunnel. The explanation was that they didn't want to risk having too much activity potentially monitored by the bad guys.

They were given a small utility three-wheeler, sort of like the meter maid vehicles, but without a cab and all electric. It had a pair of spools in back, one a fibre-optic ribbon for communications, the other a control cable for the device once it arrived. They were also armed, just in case.

The two rode in silence up the long tunnel, large enough for full size vehicle traffic. They still had their full chemical gear on, not knowing what they'd find at their destination. Very dark and quiet, but mercifully not that long, little more than a kilometer.

The junction was maybe five meters square and ten or more high, just a big concrete box of a space, several smaller tunnels branched off the sides and a heavy grating on top and the tank of the tanker rig visible. The two both had their chemical test gear out, Sharp with her cards and swabs and Robbi with his sniffer.

"The area seems safe, no detectables. Can see the subject tank above us." Sharp reported. Then, breaking procedure, she began peeling off her suit. "We know the gas is an inhalant, so I'm keeping my mask with me, but I'm getting out of my suit. Will make the set up easier." Then to the surprised Bobcat, "I was cooking in that thing anyway and need all the mobility I can get." Pointing up to the grating.

They set up a splitter box for the fibre-optic communications ribbon and uncoiled connections so that they could move away from the cart's comm set. The bomb cable could wait for the specialists.

There were several sets of ladder rungs set into the walls leading up to some smaller discharge tunnels.

"Looks like the one to the right will give you best access to the main girders and the middle of the grate." Robbi was, for the moment, still in his full HAZMAT 'space suit' and was technically suppose to stay suited up. "To save yourself some effort, take the line up with you now."

Sharp nodded. She was going to climb up to the grate to see what she could see. Then the plan was that she would hook a pulley to the underside of the grate structure so the device could be hoisted up as close as possible to the tank. She'd been told that the bomb was small enough that the full incineration effect of the fireball was only a few meters.

Keeping her mask on, she climbed up the rungs to the top, no great effort to that, even with her mask and trailing a light rope and a fibre-opitc ribbon behind her. It was only ten or so meters after all. And there she was. "I'm under the grate, northwest edge. The tractor's engine is idling, and I can clearly see what looks like bundles strapped and duct taped along the full underside of the tank, at least from what I can see." She broke out another set of test cards to see if there was anything to detect. "The testers are not showing anything at all for now."

She used the light line to pull up the pulley assembly and then crawled upside down off the grate structure to about the mid-point to hook it into place. Then Robbi used the light line to pull the heavier hoisting line up and through the pulley to get everything set for the device. The plan was that the specialists would be there just long enough to connect the bomb to it's control cable and then haul it up to position then they'd all get out and the thing would be set off.

That was the plan. If the terrorists didn't set off the tank first. If the bomb was anywhere near in place, it could be set off immediately to catch what it could of any release. Regardless of where the team was.

With everything set up, the pair could only wait. Sharp kept to the top of one of the ladders to keep what little of an eye on what was happening above. She took off her mask, and saw that Robbi was getting his space suit off as well. Free of that, he showed her that he had a simpler gas mask not unlike hers to use as the suit's helmet was part of the whole and could not be effectively worn separately.

After a rather nervous wait, the longest nearly an hour in their lives, they were informed the specialists and their device was on its way.

And there they were, two larger beasts in full HAZMAT suits in another utility cart. And the bomb. Almost anticlimactic, a simple can of a thing. No fiddly-bits on or around it, just a shiny metal cylinder with a lifting eye-lug on the side.

"They're here." Sharp reported. "We ought to be out of here in just a couple."

One of the beasts, some kind of ungulate, Sharp couldn't quite tell, pointed out that they would prefer to not hook up the bomb to its control cable until it was fully in place, just to make sure. Sure. They wrapped the cable around the bomb case and tacked on down with some duct tape. Enough slack at the connector end to easily bring it to the jack in the end of the bomb.

From her position above, Sharp narrated each step to the command center. Sort of wished she had brought a camera for all this.

"They have the bomb hooked up and are getting it ready to lift. Looks like its pretty heavy. They're using one of the ladder rungs as a cinch to help them haul it up."

"Sharp, can you jump to channel two, please." So far the communications to control had been basically one-sided. She and Robbi simply reporting in each step with no real need for comment. But 'jump to channel two' was a code phrase, something was not right. She switched her comm to channel six, and quietly reported. "Sharp here."

"Sharp, I'm handing you off to Special Agent Savage." Captain Smith sounded unhappy.

"Officer Sharp, how big would you say the device is?" The voice sounded like a smaller mammal, and not a Zootopian accent.

"Simple cylinder, about thirty by ninety centimeters, maybe. And the way they're pulling on it, must be over 100 or 150 kilos."

There was a pause. Then, "It is vitally important that it not get set up to detonate."

Sharp suddenly had a multitude of questions, but she simply waited.

"Once it gets set in place, can you keep it there. Set it on something or jam the pulley. Anything to keep it out of reach?" She could see that the two specialists didn't look like the kind of beasts that could climb out like she had. The agent must know that too.

"Sure. I've got zip-ties that I can wrap things with." She figured she could make a knot of them to keep the line from letting it back down. "Then what?"

"We need to buy some time. There are agents coming your way now, but it will be minutes before they can get there. Would it be possible for you to cut the cable without them seeing it, then plug in the dead connection."

"Easily" Sharp suspected that this whole thing had taken a turn to the weird. Too much to speculate on and no time. The bomb was coming up and she crawled into position to greet it.

"I want to secure the line at this end to make sure it stays in place." She called down and the specialists nodded in agreement. And she found that she could easily knot up things to keep the thing in place. And from her vantage point, she was able to get her all-purpose tool out and cut the cable without anyone seeing what she was doing below. "Just checking that everything is okay."

She could see that one of the beasts had his hooves on a control box spliced into the control cable. Heretofore, she would have thought that it was a local detonator control in case they needed to set off the bomb directly in response to the tanker threat. But now she wasn't sure.

"I'm ready to plug it in." The end of the bomb was simple, an inset end plate with a pair of connector points with screw on caps. The larger one matched the cable end, just plug in and tighten the threaded collar to hold it in place. "And done."

There was an exclamation from below. "What did you do!?" The two specialists were having fits. The one with the box was checking its connections and fiddling with some switches on it. The other appeared to be in heated conversation with someone, inaudible inside his HAZMAT helmet.

"Check that plug!"

"Will do." Sharp made a show of undoing the collar and pulling the plug out. "The thing looks good to me. And the alignment key on the plug means I got it in right. Let me try it again." And she did, with exaggerated care.

"Damnit! Get that back down here!" The specialist raged.

"That will take a few." And Sharp gestured to her zip-tie knot. And in that moment things went very bad. Before Sharp could even register what was happening, the one specialist had shot Robbi and took a shot at her. It missed her but hit the bomb casing, and she caught some fragments as the bullet splashed off the hard steel body. More in surprise than actual injury, she lost her grip and scrambled to grab on to anything, the line, and began to slide down. Before she could think beyond the panic of almost falling -

An overwhelming flash/impact.

Sharp was alive, but blind and deaf, and choking on smoke. And in pain. Everything hurt like she'd been beaten everywhere. And every movement only hurt worse. And there was something else. She was covered in something, not water, but watery. Ugh. Diesel oil? She couldn't smell anything, her nose was stuffed, was it blood? Could be. She tasted blood, and that awful fuel oil. She struggled to clear her eyes. The oil stung something fierce. There was light now; maybe it was smoke that kept things dark before. She groped for some wipes in her utility kit and got some of her face and around her eyes more or less clear.

She could then make out a bit of the space. There was smoke clearing out. The grating wasn't overhead anymore. Most of it was down on the floor in a tangled mess. The bomb was somewhat buried in that. Where were the others? And, belatedly, what about the chemical threat? That she was drenched in oil rather than a deadly poison that should have killed in seconds suggested something...

Where was her headset? She still had her standard police comm on her tactical vest and she activated that. "Officers Sharp and Robbi down and need assistance! Other's status unknown. No poison gas apparent. Seem to have Diesel oil all over down here. Device status uncertain." Did the call go out from down so deep? She repeated her message. As she was still deaf from the presumed explosion, the tanker must have gone off, she had no way of hearing any reply.

She really wanted to get up and examine the debris, to find out what happened to the two specialists, and, hopefully help Robbi, but simply sitting up against a wall was all she seemed to be able to do. She repeated her message again, not entirely sure if she was even speaking aloud. With all the pain, she couldn't even feel her voice.

She had to stop calling and clear her mouth, there was a build up of blood. She spat it, ugh, no, just drooled a clotted mess out down the front of her. She must look a fright. All that oil in her fur made her feel particularly icky. She tried to wipe a bit more off her head, and her paw came back bloody. How badly Was she hurt?

Try to keep calling out. She felt so tired, hurt so bad. Try to concentrate. Try to stay conscious...

Then rescue and a rush to the hospital and all the fuss and bother of doctors and nurses. Between shock and pain meds, it was all a cacophony of action, until it wasn't.

She was in a presumably quiet white room, her hearing wasn't back yet, though a doctor had earlier wrote her a note saying it was only temporary, and in a particularly comfy bed. She felt clean and warm, and still more than a bit muzzy from all the drugs that she'd been pumped with. No worries with all the happy chemistry. She looked to the IV bag she was still hooked up to. Looked like simple saline, though the nurses kept adding secret sauce to the line.

Part of her wanted to know what happened, but the secret sauce seemed to keep her from focusing on that. Maybe that was just as well. Bobcat boy, what was his name, had got hurt. Didn't he? And the tanker, and the bomb. What happened? Hours passed.

She was getting bored. She'd slept a while and had gotten a 'nutritious drink' and now the nurses had eased off on the secret sauce and her brains, and something of the pain, was coming back. What she really wanted was some answers to what had just happened back at the storm drain and beyond. But instead she watched the second hand of a wall clock grind around, once, twice, three times, argh, she was so bored. There was a TV in the room, where was the remote control? Then, a guest.

It was Captain Smith. The Badger was in his dress blues, the first time she'd ever seen him in anything but tactical gear or fatigues and he didn't look comfortable. He mouthed a possible 'how are you'.

Sharp attempted to answer, "Still here, I guess." She could feel herself taking, sort of, but still couldn't hear anything. She gestured that she still couldn't hear.

The Captain nodded and presented a laptop that he opened for her and keyed a prepared message.

'Your experience in the storm drain will be only that of yourself and officer Robbi. You went in to assess the threat of the terrorist. While doing so, they detonated the tanker truck and you and Officer Robbi were injured in the explosion."

Sharp was not surprised by that and nodded that she understood. Rather than trying to speak, she gestured that she wanted to type in questions. 'How is Robbi?'

Smith answered. 'He'll make it. Single gsw, that Did Not Happen, and minor injuries in the explosion.'

'Will we ever get the full story?'

'Not likely, and we can't talk about ANYTHING not in the official version. So this will have to be it.'

'So no hero savior of Zootopia?'

'Nothing officially. But you'll be getting a special hazardous duty bonus and some extra points on your promotion consideration.'

'Poo!'

00000

"So. Was this external or internal?"

"The best guess, and by that, I mean after an exhaustive search through all of the players' backgrounds, as well as the preliminary forensic psychological profiles on the apparent ringleaders, looks internal. Nearly the whole of Division Eight seemed to be in on it."

"How can that be? I mean, don't we have better profiling and reliability safeguards than that?"

"Even the best system is only as good as the personnel who implement it. It may have been that several key mammals were already on the inside and jiggled the process, in effect using the personality analysis to recruit like-minded beasts."

"Yeah. And then, as they had already broken into the data system to create falsified documentation, they would have been the first to recognize anyone else's attempts to do an undercover or do an audit."

"Any guesses as to why?"

"Best guess, anti-interspecie-ism. It seems that for every mammal who regards the city as the bright symbol for all mammal kind, there are those who regard it as some kind of perverse and unnatural mingling. Even the notion of non-species-specific civil rights is a sore subject at home and abroad. Remember Belwether and the Killer Bunnies, just to name a few. This time it would not have been merely compromising the ideals of the city, but destroying it outright, and it was a unit of our own system."

"And how did that almost happen?"

"There has been any number of exercises over the years involving unconventional applications of nukes, including situations not unlike what was presented in Zootopia's Central Plaza. Never an actually movement of personnel or devices, just procedural walk-throughs."

"One of the details that came out of some of these exercises is that a request for such and such size device proved to be a procedural problem. The weapon management system was all about controlling individual specific devices and didn't really have an, for lack of a better word, ala Carte style selection process. That is still a bit of a stumbling block for these kind of actions."

"Then, whenever any nuclear device is moved, be it for redeployment, routine maintenance, or whatever, the specific identity of that device is part of its movement order. All the details of the movement is classified, of course, but it is never simply 'a bomb is being moved', but very much bomb number such and such."

"Where that comes into play in this case was that, with the specific device identity, any special request is almost automatically approved, even expedited, as it was an emergency. The presumption was that since the requester already knew what they wanted, then they must obviously have known what they needed."

"So, even as they were telling the officials in Zootopia that they were bringing in a mark 90 atomic demolition device with a yield that would have been selected at about sixty tons, what was actually brought in without question from the ZAF site was a mark 60 200 kiloton thermonuclear weapon."

"The Division Eight team had caught word that the particular device was being rotated into the active arsenal and was going to be moved again to Jassberg in another week. That's why their set up with the nerve gas and tanker bit was so easily found out after the fact. They may have had an outline of a plot, but needed to do the actual thing on the fly in just a few days."

"Aren't these things safed? I mean, are they really ready to go off at a moment's notice?"

"In the bad old days, the actual fission core, the 'physics package', was kept separate until the weapon was on the way to the target for safety sake. A bomber crewmammal actually assembled the bomb en route. But newer devices needed to be more self-contained and at the same time safer. So, for things like the mark 60, it's completely sealed, ready to go, but at the same time, completely inert until given the specific detonation command. That the device in question was never at risk when the tanker exploded, fell to the concrete floor, then was pounded by several tons of falling steel demonstrates that aspect very well."

"And Division Eight. Were any of the primaries caught?"

"One of the weapons techs survived the explosion on site, but he seems to have been compartmentalized. Very dedicated to the cause, but only knew his specific role. The leader was in the ZPD command center, likely expected to go with everyone else when the bomb was suppose to go off. She was figured out by one of your agents and was darted, but she had previously taken an antagonist drug that made darting lethal, as did several others. When there was no earth-scattering kaboom, they hit themselves with darts to suicide."

"There were a group of them back at their office where they set off a bomb of their own. Just enough to kill them and bust things up for a follow-up incendiary device."

"And now?"

"Reviews of everything, of course. There were a minimum of personnel who knew of the official plan, and they've reliably sworn to secrecy. The use of an atomic to deal with a real nerve gas attack would have been politically challenging. Against a fake attack, catastrophic. Especially as there would be casualties. Even the actual abbreviated evacuation saw a couple hundred injured and six fatalities. Estimates for the small atomic could have been in the low thousands injured and anyone's guess as to deaths, some score, some hundreds, maybe, and a small but real risk of long term impact from prompt and residual radiation."

"On the other hand, a real tanker full of nerve gas, effectively dispersed, could have literally killed half of the city, millions of mammals, in less than an hour. The big bomb, had it gone off, would have likely have promptly killed far fewer but would have taken out the heart of the city; the whole urban center would have been gone. And as a surface detonation, would have been extra dirty, leaving much of the rest of the city uninhabitable with all the fall-out."

"And it would reveal that we have thermonuclear weapons just laying around."

"That we have them at all is bad enough, but that we would be seen as using one on ourselves..."

"All this gives us plenty of work to do."


	10. Glimpses of the War

**Part of the** ** _Zootopia at War_** **series headed up by Selaxes over at AO3. The WWII analog with Zootopia in the British Isle role. Nick is an (American) pilot come over to help defend against a particularly blood-thirsty predator Axis. The series now has a number of great writers teamed up and a delightful range of OCs and various situations.**

Pilot was dead. That last burst of gunfire had all but torn out the port side of the cockpit and most of the Heinkle's 'greenhouse' was now only open framework, the glazing smashed. What was left of Pilot was still strapped into his seat. Thankfully he was not entangled in any of the controls. Further, the Heinkel was a fairly sedate flying machine and wasn't going anywhere untoward right away. Karl grabbed at the flying wheel, swinging around it around to the emergency pilot's assistant position and took on the role.

Karl had, up until that moment, been the navigator and bombardier in the Heinkel, and had gotten only rudimentary instruction on this alternate task. He could fly the bomber in a basic fashion, the control column seemed to be fully functional, and though he didn't have access to the rudder pedals, he did have the trimming controls so could make some input.

The throttles and some other controls would have been largely out of reach, on the other side of Pilot, but that was no longer an issue, as they had joined Pilot into bullet-riddled ruin. But Karl wasn't all that worried about those details. Where was the verdamnt Enemy and how was he going to avoid his attentions in what was now a near ten ton glider?

No sign of the Zootopian Hurricane.

"Auw! Anyone see the Jagd?" No response from Funker or Gunner was hopeful just an intercom failure. "Pilot is gone, but I've got things for now."

As the seconds added up, he could begin to think about what to do next. There was still some altitude for parachuting, at least for the guys in back, if they were still alive. But Karl wasn't sure about how long the Heinkel would stay something akin to straight and level if he let go of the controls. The autopilot was gone as well. Without power, he figured he had a few minutes of glide, maybe more if he eased off the modest dive angle, but he was wary about stalling or otherwise losing control.

And where was that Hurricane?

"That's got him!" Cheered Rourke as he saw his Squadron mate pull away from the Hun Bomber. It was still going straight and level, but the engines were out, just training a wisp of white, fuel or coolant draining away. The streamlined glass nose, part of the signature of the shapely Heinkle bomber, was now just an outline in frames. The pilot must have gotten hacked, and the rest aboard might well be too with all the lead through the machine.

"An even ten for you, Hopps." Called out Talbot. "Going to finish him?"

"What's the point? Well-chewed and on the way down, just wastes bullets at this point."

"Yeah. But someone follow him down to report the crash site. Who's out?"

Unfortunately, though everyone was out of ammunition, or nearly so, they were also nearly out of fuel, at least with a margin to get back to base. Finally, Talbot made the decision. "Hopps, as its yours for score, you can follow it. There are a couple field options on the way back if you need to land short. Hardy, you still have some rounds left for his wing mammal."

The two pilots waved at each other and took up positions behind the stricken bomber. As it was gliding so slowly, they were loath to match and not be able to quickly reaccelerate if needed, the two fighters swung back and forth in wide, easy S-turns, keeping their eyes on the skies and not getting too close if the crew might take one last shot at them. *

If it hadn't been another bloody day of war, three bombers destroyed out of a raiding force of eight and one of their fellows forced to take to the 'cute, it was a beautiful day to be in the air. The fall afternoon sky was bright blue and the landscape, still a couple thousand meters below, was green and gold in a patchwork of farm and forest.

Hopps loved the air, high and clean and clear. And there was a thrill, like the swoop of a child's swing, but it just kept going and going. But as much as he reveled in it, he kept his eyes open for any threat. They were just in range of Messerschmitts, though the enemy fighters couldn't afford to be prowling, they might be coming off escort or a harassment raid and might take a quick shot before having to head home on the last of their fuel.

Glancing down, Hopps began to recognize the landscape, Deerbrook County. They'd be passing by his home ground, the Tri-burrows, were he to ever think of it in such a fashion. But at the moment, he was more concerned with where the bomber might want to put down. The County seat was straight ahead, and even without bombs, the Heinkel could make a big hole in the middle of things.

Hardy was thinking the same thing and the pair of them pulled away from the bomber to get into a better shooting position, just in case. Whoever was aboard the bomber must have noticed things too, as it banked away from the town. It still had plenty of altitude as well and made no sign of diving into anything. At least yet.

Seeing that little consideration, Hopps decided he had to see who was flying. Getting right up had the risk of being fired upon, and slowing down enough to match speed meant being unable to quick evade if needed, but Hopps was piqued.

Getting in close, he could properly see the innumerable rifle calibre bullet holes from his guns that had raked the port side of the larger plane. And the smashed glazing of the clear nose of the thing. It appeared that the pilot was dead, or at least slumped in his seat. As he understood it, the bombardier had some level of flight control and there was a figure sitting beside him, lower, or smaller, gripping the controls. With all their flight gear on, it was hard to tell what species they were, perhaps some kind of canid, there were longish muzzles.

The bombardier/pilot glanced over at him and waved. Hopps waved back then pointed down. The enemy pilot gave a paw wave that sure looked like "where?"

Where indeed?

There were larger fields to the west, or at least lower walls and fewer stands of trees, as well as somewhat leveler ground. And not too many little towns to threaten. Hopps gestured to the enemy pilot. He might not want to turn, south and east was the shortest way home if he still had engines. At the rate he was losing altitude, he wasn't going to even get out of the county.

Perhaps he understood and began a slow and careful banking turn. Shortly, the loss of altitude demanded a choice, and a nice wide field, looked freshly mowed, looked about right. The Heinkel took a slightly steeper angle, aiming towards the field, but in doing so picked up a little speed, which meant a little extra lift and it wasn't going to touch down yet. So it floated over the field and looked like it was going on to the next, if the line of trees allowed.

The next field was smaller and less even, and if the bomber didn't stop, had a stone wall and rather dense bit of woods beyond to deal with. Having finally lost enough speed to settle into a landing, the plane now had no field to land on. Hopps could tell the pilot must have panicked by trying a last little hop over the trees. A mistake, as he both didn't clear the trees and lost too much speed in the effort. The Heinkel was still in the air when it finally decided it wasn't going to fly anymore.

The bomber clipped the treetops that bordered the field before thumping down hard and then slithering across the field and coming up against the stone wall at the far side. Karl disconnected himself from the plane, though paused to listen for any tell-tales of fire, or more importantly, any word from Funker and Gunner in back. He made his way aft between the vertical bomb cells, grateful they were empty with all the bullet holes now in them. And there was the two. The impact of the landing had tossed them to the bulkhead, but only as lifeless bodies. The splatter of blood and pattern of bullet holes through the aircraft's skin made it clear that they had caught the full fury of the attack.

There were standing instructions that their machine was not to fall into enemy paws in anything like intact condition. Perhaps he could burn the thing, once he got his crewmates out. But judging from all the damage, the fuselage now had some odd twists and bends that shouldn't be there, there might not be all that much of value left in it.

First things first. Getting a way out.

Normal entry and exit was through the now crushed belly gunner's position. Gunner must have gotten up and out for some reason, had he been wounded, or had been assisting Funker? Either way, he had not been down there, which wasn't there at all anymore.

While an able body could climb out via the top gun position, trying to haul anyone that way would be practically impossible.

Reaching back to the cockpit area, Karl regarded the pilot's overhead hatch. Normally, due to the often compromised view out through all the inconveniently reflective glass during take off or landing, the pilot could slide open the hatch and elevate his seat, turning the modern warcraft a temporary open cockpit aeroplane, complete with a little extended windshield.

Now, it was the only easy way out of the Heinkel. If he could manage to work around the gory mess that had been his Pilot. Fortunately, it slid open easily enough and while sitting on the edge, he could reach down and pull at the body.

Of course, the pilot had to be a particularly large Wolf and Karl a slight Fox. But with some effort, and the fact a percent of the Pilot's mass was draining out to the cockpit floor, he got him up and out. Dragging him some distance off from the plane, Karl opened his parachute and spread it out to use it as a shroud.

Then back to recover the rest.

The couple of trucks had a crew of local lads to use their combined efforts to more easily harvest those fields ready to go. There were a few full on mechanical harvesters in the county, but not enough for everyone to use before the weather closed in. And there was a level of pride in that the lads could collectively give the machines a run for their money with their hand tools. There was enough daylight left for one more field, if the drivers could manage a little more speed, but were loath to kick up more dust or jostle their passengers too much.

"Hey! Look it that!" One of the lads, Jack Blackback shouted and pointed. And there were a pair of Hurricanes purring along, low overhead. And it seemed like they were waggling their wings at them, to which everyone cheered and waved. Then they turned, no, circled even, waggling their wings again and heading more or less back the way they came, then a couple miles on, circled and waggled again. There was just enough swell and stands of trees to hide what ever was their focus of attention.

"What the world?" Someone asked, and then Jeffy Hopps shouted, "They want us to go there! Maybe someone parachuted or something?"

Instantly there was collective agreement and the two trucks surged on to see what was up. Dust and bruises be damned. The pair of Hurricanes passed over them one last time with another wing waggle and were then off.

Coming up to a fork, they saw a mouse signal. Like a small shielded traffic light, the mice who lived out in those parts could give notice for a pick up. In years past it might have been a sign or semaphore flag, but some of the folks had gotten fancy. Instead of the simply lit lamp, this one was blinking, three times, pause, three times, a simplified SOS.

The fork was in about the right direction, so on they went. Shortly, beyond a small wood and up against a wall at the edge of a field, lay an enemy plane. Not as big as they expected. Rather slender, with somewhat organic lines to it. In dark greens, made even darker in the afternoon shadow of the trees, though the stark black and white national markings made it all too clear who it belonged to. There was a mass of cloth laid out near by with a body on it.

As the crowd was focused on the sight, it took a moment to notice the several mice on the edge of the field trying to get their attention. "There's a Hun up and about! A Fox! He's inside the plane again!" Came the tiny shouts.

The more than a dozen mammals piled out of the trucks, various implements in paw, and warily advanced. Taking a closer look at the poor beast on the parachute, there were some mixed reactions to the sight. The slain creature was the very image of the "big, bad wolf" and wore the uniform of an unthinkably cruel enemy. But he was also torn and bloody, and his terribly toothsome gape was in a face twisted in pain.

But the real attention was still on the downed aircraft and the clatter of someone inside. They could see the innumerable holes in the side and could only imagine what could have happened to anyone inside.

Jock, the big, though still rather young badger felt he needed to take the lead and rapped on the side of the fuselage. "Oy! You in there, will ya be comin' out?"

The clattering stopped and a face briefly appeared in a side window. A Fox! Some more clatter and he appeared again up above at a machine gun station. Everyone froze in shock at the sudden prospect of being mowed down were they stood. But the Fox did some fiddling with the gun and a double can magazine fell off the side and a moment later the machine gun itself slid down and clattered to the ground.

There was a silent exchange of looks in how the collected mammals had just dodged literal bullets and understood the gesture of disarmed surrender. No one let go their scythes and pitchforks, but they did let them relax their ready pose.

Guessing that the Fox would exit from the cockpit area, if the trail of blood and worse from the one body was any indication, most of the crowd clustered up there while a few circled the plane to examine the rest of it.

Jeffy and Don Hopps, and one of the Sward rabbits, Bobby, were bold enough to climb up to the cockpit and Jeffy even went inside. After all the time with Judy's Fox and dealing with a real enemy flyer before, he was feeling particularly bold. All the blood in the cockpit was a bit much, but he concentrated on what might the Fox be doing in back.

Even though the smell was getting to him, Jeffy went back through the narrow passage aft and found the Fox sorting out a pair of bodies. Two more of his flying mates no doubt. This fox didn't look like Nick at all, much darker and a bit leaner, if that was even possible, with dark eyes to match. His flying suit, all of the them wore a one-piece coverall, was zipped open to show a rather tidy formal uniform underneath. There was a lot of blood on all of it. The Fox was briefly surprised at the appearance of a little bunny, but then gestured that he would need help pulling the body of his comrade out.

"Hey you guys! The rest of the crew got hacked and the Fox wants to bring them out!" Jeffy called out.

"Okay then." and Don cautiously climbed inside, more from the splattered gore than the prospect of being in close proximity to an enemy Fox. Bobby followed, but just to inside the cockpit, he was not keen on getting deeper inside, though who could say if it was the sense of danger or the ghastly reek.

Once Don was back aft with Jeffy, it was clear that the Fox would hoist his crewmate, another wolf, by the shoulders and the two rabbits would get his feet. They were slow and careful. Things were a bit slippery and nasty. The pair didn't want to think of what was drooling out of the coverall legs, but were prepared to brave it out.

Once they were in the cockpit, Bobby saw that he could help by sitting up on the open top hatch and help hoist the body up, those Swards were always a lot stronger than they looked. Then, instead of having the body ignobly slide off to flop on the ground, there were many paws ready to lower it.

The Fox nodded in approval, then wobbled just a bit. Jeffy and Don looked to him. "Are you wounded?" Don asked. There was so much blood splashed around that he couldn't tell if any of it was his own. The Fox cocked his head, did he understand? Maybe, as he waved the concern off. After taking a little breather, went back to take care of the last casualty.

It was another Fox, but one of the smaller species, a Kit Fox, like Flight Officer Tod, Nick's fellow pilot who they'd met back at the Finding Festival. The Fox seemed to be getting more weary, as although this body was smaller, he had more trouble lifting it.

Because he was so small, Jeffy chose to take his feet alone. The Fox smiled at that and gave an appreciative nod. Getting him up and out was also simplified. Then when it came time for the Fox to get out, he clearly needed help. The Rabbits exchanged a look, as it was obvious that the Fox was in a bad way.

Once out of the aircraft, the Fox indicated he needed to stop. He leaned back against the bomber's fuselage and slid down to a sitting position. It was only then that the Rabbits noticed his blood soaked gaiters and feet and a drool coming out of his trouser legs.

"Oh pellets! He's hit!" Don gasped and approached the Fox, who, seeing his concern, waved him off. While he didn't say anything, his expression seemed to that of resignation. He reached inside his coverall and drew out a pay book that he then tucked into an outside pocket for easier access. He then began to shiver a bit and zipped his coveralls back up and wrapped his arms about himself.

A few others came to see what was up with the Fox.

A couple showed real sympathy for a dying mammal, regardless of status. Most everyone else kept their distance, unenthusiastic in witnessing a death in progress.

A few were more harsh. "Glad to see the end of those damned biters." Archie grumbled, to a couple supporting nods.

"Well, you'll have your wish soon enough!" Snapped Bobby. But he understood the sentiment. He'd been on paw when the previous Enemy Flyer had staggered though the farm and had half-wished his Dad had shot the Cat. But then as now, the enemy had been reduced to a weak and harmless wretch and he was never really a kick-'em-when-they're-down kind of beast.

While a few stood by the death vigil, one of the drivers offered to go back to town and alert the Authorities, as they didn't know of anyone with a 'phone in the neighborhood. It took a little while for the Fox to gasp out one last breath, and then he was carried over to lie by his comrades.

As it was getting towards dark, a few of the fellows scrounged some windfall from the woods and started a fire on the edge of the field. Everyone stood around the fire as it got dark, with not much to say. It was a clear night, with a bit of a chill then with the sun down, and would be pleasant enough expect that there was the occasional whiff from the bodies and the wreak.

"Hell of a day."

"Yep."

"Still have to get to the Saunders crop."

"Yep."

"Hope we don't get any more like that."

'Yep."

Pellets. Fuel was getting low enough that looking for an alternate landing was now a necessity. Getting home on fumes or even deadstick could earn more than a cross word from the CO, even though it was a secret point of pride among many of the pilots. But pranging one's crate short of the field was a Very Bad Thing and Hopps was not one to dare that risk. But where to land? There was an option that brought a sadly wry smile.

"Hardy. What do you think about checking out those Red Tail Spitfires? Over."

"Aren't they a bit out of the way? Over."

"Still closer than home, and the only place that isn't a training or bomber field. Over"

While any operation would have fuel, any other service specific to the Merlin-powered plane might not be readily available. Then inter-unit rivalries, outside the heat of battle, could be very much a thing. Hopps for one was in no mood for the hazing that might come with the bomber crowd or the hero worship from the flying cadets.

Hopps radioed the base of choice, who was more than happy to play host to the pram-pushers. Hopps didn't mind the slight. Spitfires were all glory, but the Hurricanes were the ones taking the enemy bombers in greater numbers, even if the press was slow to acknowledge them.

Not too soon, with petrol gauges close to pegged, there was Cecil Flavideau Aerodrome, little different than his home field. A few more buildings above ground perhaps, and more extensive trench works and ack-ack. They were a bit closer to the coast and could expect more chances of attack. The pattern of dirt patches and fresh young grass attested to earlier bombings. A threat his unit had yet to face.

Upon landing, they were directed to park next to the line of Spitfires, a mixed batch of gun and cannon-armed machines, all with the dramatic red tail decoration.

There was a bit of crowd on paw to welcome them as they disentangled themselves from their mounts. "Like you'd never seen a Hurricane before?" Hopps quipped.

The ground crew beast who was assisting him countered, "Seeing fossils like you and your crates is a bit of an event."

Hopps gave the mammal, a Ram, an appraising look. The old beast couldn't be a day younger than fifty. "And an old coot like you is calling me a fossil?" he called out in mock accusation.

"Ha!" He snorted back. "After all these cubs and kits, anyone with their horns in a curl is positively ancient. Besides, if I may say, you look like you've got a touch of decrepitude."

Hopps grumbled at that. "Got a few rounds in me a while back. Still stings a little." A bit of an understatement. He'd managed to bluff his way back to flight status only by taking advantage of the gullibility of the new young Doctor assigned to the unit.

"Besides, we have to welcome our stalwart second line." Announced one of the flying officers, a Fox, who had overheard the conversation. "You've been catching everyone we've been missing. Congratulations on getting in on those raiders today."

"Never enough though. And they had already dropped their load by the time we got to them." Hopps said with a bitter edge. "I'm Hopps." presenting a paw, "And this young ragamuffin is my wing beast of the moment, Hardy" gesturing to the rather fuzzy brown and white patched bunny that was coming over with his own little crowd of onlookers.

"Hopps, eh?" the Fox said with a bit of a grin, "No relation to a certain headstrong Doe, eh?"

Hopps cocked his head, and with a bit of a grin of his own. "You don't look like the kind of head case that would get entangled with the likes of her. Brother?"

"I'm afraid I am that cracked." And Nick Wilde shook the rabbit's paw with renewed enthusiasm. Then announced to everyone, "This is my Brother-in-Law, another air-crazy Hopps." And after some brief paw shakes all around, asked in a more formal tone. "I'm a bit surprised to see you up so soon, ya know. But, how was it?"

"We got three Heinkels down, a couple more smoking but still going. One of ours had to bail, wing tank fire, but he ought to be okay." Hopps reported. "We had split our formation so had only five of use for the job." He then snuffed, "I'm fine. Just a little gimpy at times."

"The last one was Hopps', his tenth kill." Added Hardy.

Hopps made a little face at that. "You guys helped, as always."

"Nah, you were the one to get him. We were all pretty much dry by then so could only feint to keep the gunners distracted. That one bellied in, looked like it was still one piece when we left it for some locals to deal with."

"Oh really?" Wilde was piqued.

Hardy added. "Yeah, just this side of Deerbrook County, where it flattens out a bit more."

Nick gave Hopps a second look. That was the Tri-burrows neighborhood and Hopps was clearly not going to comment.

Judy had mentioned a little about her elder Brother, the moody and distant Jonah, who had left the warren when she was still just a kit. That he was a flyer at all was a surprise to the whole family when they received the notice that he'd been injured in combat. Then the terse meeting when Bonnie had gone to visit her wayward Son. Later 'Jonny' Hopps had sent the briefest of a note to Judy, congratulating her on earning her wings.

"Do you want to 'phone your base? Let them know you're okay. Even see if you can overnight if you'd like? We'd be delighted to have you." Nick offered. More than hospitality was in that. He could tell that Hopps was more than just a tad gimpy, and was at the moment rather marginal for more flying today.

Hardy looked hopeful, but Hopps made a little face. "Rather be back to our post. Be ready for action all the sooner. Those biters are likely to take advantage of the last good weather for now."

The collected Red tails nodded in support. With the threat of fall rains, enemy attacks were spottier, making the most of clear skies. Nick wasn't so eager to get him on his way.

"Well, as it will take a few." And Nick gestured to the ground troops, "We can, at least offer you a cuppa and nibble, eh?"

Hopps snerked, "Zootopia is clearly rubbing on you. Though that is the worst accent over your UT twang."

"Accent? Whadeveh cood ya mean?" Returned in the worst comedic seaboard slur, which brought a general guffaw from the crowd.

"So, who do we have here?" In a very clipped City tone, Group Captain Faulkner had finally made his appearance.

Hopps and Hardy snapped to and the others straightened up for their commander. "Flight Officers Hardy and Hopps, recovering from a combat sortie, Sir!"

"Ran dry after some hostiles, I'd wager." The senior officer returned the salute and offered a paw. "We'll get you topped off, and re-armed if you 'd like."

"Yes sir, and thank you, yes." Hopps returned.

"Very good. And a bit of a family reunion here, eh?" Faulkner suspected this was Judy's Brother, but didn't know the details, and before Hopps could react, Nick interceded.

"Hopps and Hardy ought to report their action, some more Heinkels downed." Said with a flurry of covert paw and facial signals that made absolutely no sense to anyone.

Faulkner was sharp enough to recognize the indecipherable deflection and took it even further. Glancing back at Hopps' Hurricane, he noticed the double row of small Hakenkreutz besides the cockpit. "Another successful defender of our beleaguered lands." He then proceeded to give the machine a little walk around.

"See you've gotten into a few proper scrapes as well." Pointing at the several doped patches on the wings and fuselage, and the generally worn look of the whole of the plane.

"She keeps going, even with some cannon fire." Hopps pointed to a larger patch in the lower rear fuselage. "But still can't stand more than a few hits of the big stuff."** He made a face. "And this is my second mount. Lost the first one when I got plugged." And he gestured to his slight limp.

"And thinking of big stuff." Hardy chripped, "I see you guys are getting the new cannons." And gestured to the Spitfires near by.

"Yes indeed. And when they work, or still have ammo in them, they make a real difference." One of the other Red Tail Pilots offered.

Seeing Hopps' and Hardy's curious expression, he continued. "The feed is only a sixty round drum, which doesn't always like hard maneuvering."

The pair nodded in understanding. The heat of battle didn't always allow for counting one's rounds.

Someone else observed, "Wish we had ammo counters like in the Messerschmitt."***

"That would make life easier."

"Having cannons on our birds would sure help us too." Hardy mused.

"All in good time." Reassured Faulkner. "And I'm told the effort to get belt-fed cannons is well under way."

Hopps and Hardy were clearly curious to see the new Spitfires and the crowd tagged along for the show and tell. As luck had it, it was Wilde's mount that they came to. Since they had approached from the starboard side, a certain detail was not revealed, and it became clear that while Wilde was not keen on having such shown, his squadron mates were becoming all too obvious.

Hopps was all about ogling the details of the plane, but Hardy was noticing the little unspoken drama among the other pilots. "So, what have you got going on?" They ushered him over to view the port side, much to Wilde's visible distress. And there it was, the embellishment of "Dreaming of My Angel". Hardy's eye widened with glee, but he wasn't going to spoil it for Hopps.

Finally, Hopps broke out of his reverie and came around to see what everyone was up to. Then he stopped dead in his tracks, gawking at the artwork. A credible likeness of Judy, in an impossibly skimpy bit of lingerie and angel wings. He chocked his head, his ears twitching in a semaphore whirl of emotions.

And then he laughed, a full braying guffaw that doubled him over. Hardy recoiled a bit at that, Hopps never laughed. He also never gasped and fell over and squeaked in pain.

"Hopps! You alright?" Hardy stood over his fellow officer, ready to give a paw, but nothing beyond that to allow him his dignity in case it was just a little stumble. But Hopps was in clear distress. "Is it your injuries?" And Hardy knelt beside him, then glanced up at the alarmed crowd. "He caught some lead a while back. Said he was okay, aside from a little limp."

"I'm afraid I'm a bit more spent than I thought." Hopps was clearly not ready to get up yet. Glancing at the nose art again, he let go a pain-choked chuckle. "Gah, JuJu, you'll be the death of me yet." He then looked to Wilde, "Alright then, I guess I'll be your over-night guest after all."

Wilde and Hardy gave Hopps a little hoist and he stood, mostly steadily, between them. "It's not so bad, really. Mostly just don't have my stamina back. Too much bed rest was worse than the injuries." Hopps attempted to reassure. There was a knowing exchange of looks among the pilots. Any number of them had, at one time or another, insisted they were fit for flight duty while ill or fatigued.

"But you have got to tell me how you met Judy, now Flight Officer Wilde." And he shook his head in good-natured incredulity.

"Well, it's a long story, and we'll have plenty of time for the telling, eh?" Wilde looked over to the Group Captain who gave a supportive nod.

* Later on, Fighters escorting Bombers over enemy territory would have a similar dilemma, as they could not dare to throttle back and conserve fuel, so weaved around to keep their speed up which compromised their escort range.

**The frame and fabric fuselage of the Hurricane was a bit more forgiving of exploding shells compared to the Spitfire. The Hurricane's skin could be rather dramatically rent, but while the underlying structure remained intact, all was good. The all-metal Spitfire used its skin as part of the structure, so any notable damage to it risked the airframe's strength.

*** Ammo counters were standard on Axis types from the beginning, and became ubiquitous in just a couple years.


	11. A Couple Days later

Jeffy Hopps was feeling pretty puffed when he headed home the next evening after the Enemy Bomber adventure. He'd dared go in to the wreck with its surviving enemy Fox. Then helped bring out his dead comrades, a task that would be beyond the stomach of most folk. Finally, he stood by the poor dying fellow, the least he could do for anyone, friend or foe.

All things that would test many grown mammals, yet he'd managed it as a young teen. True it wasn't as bold, no, foolhardy as his older brother Bailey, still under age but run off to the War. No, he wasn't up to that yet, but with so many other males going off, he had a notion that he might be able to take on responsibilities normally left to his elders.

But for now, he was heading home ahead of his brother Don, so had first bragging rights for all that happened. "Dad! You hear about the Axis bomber that landed over in Kavandish's field?" Jeffy gushed as he burst through the door of the Hopps warren.

Stuart Hopps gave his son a rather hard look. "Yes. I did." In a rather atypically stern tone. "The Spitzer Brothers were at the seed and feed this morning and told me all about it."

Jeffy was a bit crestfallen about not being the first to tell the full tale, but was more confused at his Father's disapproving meme. He also noticed none of the younger kits were underfoot, a bad sign.

"They told me about how you went in and helped that poor dying fellow. " And there was a glimmer of sympathy and pride in that. "But they also told me about they all but pissed themselves when the flyer started to paw around the machine gun." And in that he saw the fear in his Father's eyes.

"You've seen the notices about not approaching enemy flyers. How they might put up a fight." The elder Hopps flailed his arms in agitation. "And this morning, I was reading about a couple enemy flyers down over near Oxford who shot at a crowd of onlookers before getting into a gun fight with some home guards. They killed at least six and hurt more than a score."

He then looked to his young Son, his face and ears a tempest of emotions, "Then I heard about you young fools..."

"You're right, Dad." Jeffy cringed a bit from the news, and how terrified he'd been when the Fox first went for the machine gun.

"That being said, I am proud of you for what you did. There was more than bravery in it."

"Thanks, Dad."

"So. How are you doing?" And in that, the youngster saw the deeper meaning in his Father's question.

Jeffy sighed. "I'd seen, ah, bodies, ya know. And folks dying. Uncle Karl and all." He fidgeted. "But to carry a dead mammal, his blood on my paws. Then watch someone who knows he's dying right there." He had to pause. Those previous deaths had been lingering passings, brought on by age and illness. This was the first time he had actually seen a death due to violence, a body torn and bleeding out before him.

"Yeah. It can change ya." and Stu glanced away with memories of the kind of mayhem heavy equipment had wrought on small bodies. Though Bart was a still fresh memory, it was older recollections, of trying to draw out a still breathing mangle that had moments before been his Brother, and other things, that brought out a shuddering sigh.

The elder Buck gripped the youth by his shoulders to look at him square, "Jeffery Abraham." He began. "There is no shame in showing your feelings about anything, and nothing you can not bring to me or your Mother." Stu then drew Jeffy into an intense hug. "We will always love and support you, especially when you need us."

"Of course, Dad." As Jeffy pulled away to wipe a bit of tear away. He then noticed his Mother standing in a doorway, nodding her agreement. Then, to break the mood, she announced. "Come get some tea and we've got a letter from Davey to share."

And with that, several of the little ones came out to be among the elders and get some honeyed tea and hear again the words of their adventuring kin.

"Dear all.

Sorry to not write earlier, but they keep one awfully busy in the first days here. I'm told that it's on purpose to keep one off balance and not let a moment go by to get homesick or some such.

The first days were just shorting us out, and in that grouped all us Lagos together. Medical checks are easier with only one type to work through. Then tests. Some reading, math, and general aptitude. I got some additional tests, mechanical and technical stuff. Hopefully for a mechanic's position. Here's hoping.

We also got all kinds of physical exercise. I think it was more for a winnowing process. A lot of us were farm folk and could keep up well enough, though there some townies that were a bit hard pressed and got slated for "remedial conditioning". Then there were a few poor fellows with infirmities brought out by the effort.

One was an older Buck. Most of us were youngsters about my age, but there were a few up to Dad's age. But this one was even older, and though he was in pretty good shape otherwise, just couldn't run for more than a moment. Took it really hard that he had to be let go.

Saw Jimmy Clay. Because there are so many mammals here, he was in another lago group. Doesn't look like we'll be training together. Didn't realize how big an effort the recruitment was. It looks like there's more folk here than the whole of the Tri-Burrows.

Added bit.

We've been sorted to our proper basic training units. Very interesting that it's a mixed group, "Class C" size mammals of my general size, but carns too. Some cats and small foxes, all from the commonwealth, a couple otters, a "Fisher", or so he calls himself. A kind of big weasel, came over from the UVT.

So far all we've done is some basic instruction in military rules and such, and lots of marching. The plan seems to be that everyone is going to be trained in basic soldiering regardless of what their final specialty will be.

While I miss everyone, I'm doing all right. Food is bland but plentiful. Don't mind the carns with their food, mainly bugs and birds. The fish can get a bit high though.

I think I can get through the next six weeks or so before specialty training. Still don't know what the service has in mind, but I'm up for it I guess.

David Lee Hopps."

"That sounds not too bad. Certainly nothing like the horror stories Virgil said." Jeffy harrumphed.

"Yes." His Father explained. "He reassured Dave that he was just telling tales." And he shook his head at how his scamp of a son had left the family in a state with his initial message of woe. And how Soldier's Aid and the Red Cross had gotten an earful. Following letters quickly clarified the situation, though it was the original that stuck in the minds of many of the youngsters.

"But we haven't heard anything from Bailey yet?"

"No. And Virgil suggested that he didn't want to let us know exactly were he was, least we try to get him back."

"And no new letters from Danny, though the impression was that he was awfully busy with the work on his ship." Bonny sighed. "What a shame, being called back just before the finding festival and all that came with it."

"Wonder how everyone else is doing? With so many youngsters all going off at that same time, there ought to be a rash of mail back by now."

Elsewhere

There was a big blackberry hedge that made a natural barrier along the far edge of the Sward family holding. A family of Rats had taken up residence in the bramble, and with some help with the Swards, larger paws and all, made some small income harvesting and processing the fruit in season. They had also been granted planting space for some rows of sunflowers for their own use.

Jackie Sward found herself among the sad end of season stalks. Most of the heads of the giant flowers were long ago harvested, but a few tardy blossoms still hung limp on the half-wilted plants. Staggered plantings could take advantage of good early or late weather for an extended harvest. But there were always a few that were too late to fill out properly before the end of the growing season.

There was a touch of forlorn hope in them, and she was curious to see if there was any last minute salvage. Not that she could really tell. The things were twice her height and more and she was more about being quiet and away from everyone.

"'Ello, Miss." Or almost. There was a Rat atop one of the blossoms, who doffed his hat to the Doe below. "Checkin' out the bitter ends, eh?"

"Sort of, I guess. They're so wonderful in their full glory, but seem a bit sad when they can't make it."

"Aye. Not filled out enough to make the effort, but we check anyway." And he hung over the edge to dislodge a seed. "Yeah, They aren't moldin' or anything, but they're done for the season." And he dropped it down for her to examine. The husk was soft and it didn't feel like there was much of anything inside. Splitting it open only confirmed that.

"Yeah. But we'll leave them up. Birds or some poor small thing might find a nibble, an' we'd never begrudge that."

The Rat scampered down the stalk to come to eye level with Jackie. She really didn't know the Rats as individuals, as it was some of her sisters that dealt with them for the most part. Suspecting that, he introduced himself. "Call me Geoff, Miss. And you ought to be one o' the Sward Does, eh?"

"Yes, Jackie." And she tried to give him a bit of a smile.

"Ah, the academician."

Jackie made a sad little huff at that, knowing that they likely didn't describe her in such terms.

A detail the Rat noticed. "They just don' appreciate your wanting to better yourself. But you keep on. Even we rats have some ambitions. I got two going to university. Goin' for degrees. And no small number off to the war effort." Said with particular pride.

"Oh?" Jackie couldn't imagine what the small folk could be doing.

"Yeah!" He gave her a gotcha look. "You're surprised, and don't deny it. No one thinks much of us, if they give us any thought at all. But I've got kin in the war industries. Sure, one is just a wirepuller, but a couple are doing precision instruments. And my own sons in the Army." And with that a little fretful glance to his otherwise prideful explanation. "A couple in the Signal Corps and another couple with the engineers." And that brought a clear hitch in his demeanor.

Seeing her lack of understanding, he explained. "Combat engineers do all that's needed for the rest to advance. Buildin' or repairin' bridges, clearin' obstacles." And a pained pause. "Clearing mines and booby-trap. And, as often as not, under fire. True, they're not in the fight yet, but when it comes, they'll be in the thick of it."

"Yes." Jackie observed with her own touch of dread. "My Brother Edward is going back into it. Even after all that happened to him."

"Aye. Everyone's heard about him and the Hopps Lad. And now all the others who are joinin' up. A couple other Brothers of yours, I heard." He gave her a bit of a look. "Forgive me for askin', but I'd wager you're out here lamentin' more than the failed end of our crop? Is it them?"

"That too." Jackie wrung her paws. "My - mate..." There it was. She said it. As much as the two of them had very rationally understood that they shouldn't commit to a future with a war on, in their last moments together, they had also realized they were intensely in love with each other. Though unconsummated, they were as bound as any couple could be.

"He went and joined up. With the Air Corps. He hopes to be a mechanic, one of the Clay boys."

Geoff jovially snorted at that. "A Clay Buck in service? Then those biters don' have a chance. I saw how those lads did in the finals last season. Deerbrook still has three healin' from that last match."

Jackie had to laugh at that. Though her Jimmy wasn't on the team, he was well regarded in his own right. Recovering from that, "But I worry for him. He's afraid he won't come back and that I'll be left alone." With a little sob. She clenched her paws to her mouth, as though admitting that was a betrayal that should not have been uttered.

"Oh Miss. You have to live with hope." The Rat waved her close. "Live and make your life choices as though there was never any doubt as to the outcome. Holdin' yourself back only deprives you the joy of the moment." He got a hold of one of her paws. "Anyone can loose their best beloved at any moment, war or no war, just fate giving you a cruel twist." He wasn't going to mention that he was already twice a widower.

Jackie had to smile at that. He had so succinctly put into words what her family had been unable to articulate. "Thank you, sir." And she ever so carefully put her paw on his.

He in turn patted her paws. "You take care of yourself, for your sake, of course, and as much for him."

"Of course." and they parted ways.

Jackie had James' letter with her. She wasn't going to read it again, as she already remembered every word. But to keep that small thing close was precious to her. It was a short note, just a simple assurance that he was doing well in his first weeks of training. And that he thought of her everyday.

While she was comforted by that, his absence still ached. And as much as she tried not to begrudge her sister's good fortune in having her beloved here with her, the contrast did hurt. And in that, she now tended to withdraw from the family.

And thinking of that, where should she go? Maybe back to the warren. She seemed to recall that Maggie was going off on an adventure for the day, and perhaps beyond. So she wouldn't have that issue. Well, there were chores to do that could be done in isolation. Thank goodness there were always those of an age to keep the youngest ones occupied.

No. That wasn't right to think so. To avoid the little ones was going too far. Over-indigent wallowing in her despair was not a thing a proper Sward Doe should be doing, especially at the expense of the welfare of the kits. The little ones were the one responsibility that even the worthless Scott wouldn't shirk. And in thinking of that, she made a sad little smile of realization.

Duty could be such a cruel and demanding thing. But if James could stick his neck out for the war, then she could do her part for him on the home front. She still didn't like it though.

She clutched at the note in her pocket with a renewed resolve and vowed to soldier on for her family.


End file.
